


Youth and Euthanasia

by brocon



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Daddy Issues, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rare Pairings, References to Canon, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, in which Kite has interpersonal issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocon/pseuds/brocon
Summary: Kite is a stranger at the local pool hall who has been avoiding Gon for years. When Mito has to go out of town for a job interview, Gon asks the fascinating, dodgy man to babysit him for the week. He is one big mystery wrapped in another - Gon's fingers itchy to strip him down to nothing.He was a friend of Ging's, right?





	1. Euthanasia

Gon rocked on his heels, his shoes sticking to the filthy floor of the King Beetle pool hall. He could almost tap his feet to the rhythmic sounds of billiard balls smacking against the sticks, against each other, against the felted walls of their cage. The only way out was down into the dark holes that violent forces were trying to wrangle them into, and Gon wondered if the game would be much different if the balls were sentient. Would they choose to go down there if they had a choice?

He liked to think about these types of things, even though his teachers had called Mito in to speak with her in hushed, concerned tones every single time he’d written about them in worksheets or essays. No one understood these thoughts he had, not even when Mito tried her hardest to be understanding, so Gon found himself imagining that his estranged dad also thought like he did.

Some days, imagining this made him feel better. Some days, it made him ache in new ways he didn’t understand. But they echoed loneliness.

“Hey, kid, don’t stand there blocking the door. Buy something or hit the road,” came a gruff voice Gon recognized as the bartender, Rig. Well, before 10pm he was only the barista, and ten times surlier before the sun went down. Working daytime barista shifts hadn’t been in his job description when he was hired, Mito had told him, but the owner was too distrusting to hire someone else after Mito resigned.

“I’m not ‘kid,’ I’m Gon! Mito’s nephew. Don’t you recognize me?” Gon said, walking further into the King Beetle, keeping his eyes locked like a missile on every patron that walked in the door.

This made Rig jostle the glass mug he was holding even louder. Maybe Gon shouldn’t have mentioned his aunt to the man who hated the new job her absence had left him. But if he didn’t want to work the job, why didn’t he just say no when they offered the shift to him? Adults were weird, and they always took their grief out on other people. “What do you want? If the answer isn’t on the menu, you can turn right back around.”

“I’m looking for someone, Mito says he’s usually here around this time.”

Rig slammed the mug down, crossing his arms, and looked down from his fat nose at Gon. The menu behind him loomed expectantly. Gon sighed, quickly fishing a hand into his pocket for some quarters he had been saving for the arcade, and placed them on the counter messily, some rolling away as he said, “I’ll take an egg salad sandwich.”

Sliding a pre-made sandwich, wrapped in saran wrap, across the counter, he swept all of the quarters into his hands and into the register before Gon could blink. “Your aunt hasn’t worked here in six months. A lot can change in six months.”

With unclean fingers Gon picked the saran wrap from the sandwich, trying to figure out all of the ways it stuck to itself. “He’s been coming here on Wednesday afternoons for over seven years, I’m sure he’ll be here.” Not hungry, Gon took a bite of the sandwich, twisting his body to watch the patrons again. Hoping to catch a glimpse of white hair.

“Mm,” Rig grumbled, which sounded like it was mixed with a burp, “you mean that stick-thin fella with the blue cap that orders a black coffee? Twiggy, we call him.”

“Yes!” Gon practically shouted, bits of egg salad tumbling out of his mouth and down onto his shirt. He’d worn a button-down to look nice for today, and now it had egg and spit glistening on one of the buttons.

“You’re in luck, Twiggy still comes in. Goes directly to the back corner and waits ten minutes before ordering his drink, then plays a few rounds of pool.” Taking a hard, judgmental look at the egg salad on Gon’s shirt, said, “you can go wait back there. Chew with your mouth _closed_ , this is why I don’t like kids in my bar—I mean, _café_.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rig.” Undaunted, Gon took strides as large as his short legs would carry him to the back where Kite would be. Now that he thought about it, he remembered this back booth.

Seven years ago, he first met Kite while Mito was working as the barista. Abe had had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t watch him after he got home from school, so she dropped him off in the afternoon during Mito’s shift. It was a Wednesday.

Gon had unpacked his bookbag, shoved full of toys, as soon as Mito had set him up in a back booth that was both far away from most other patrons and within her direct line of sight from the counter. He had dinosaurs, snakes, horses, bears, and crocodiles—the smell of plastic and potato chips sharp in his mind as he ate messily and made them all attack each other on the table.

He must have gotten too excited from smelling the coffee around him, because his plastic black bear went flying out of his tiny hands, out of the booth, and sailing into the next booth back. As if in slow motion, he watched it hit the back of a tall head sitting in the next booth, knocking a blue hat off and onto the floor.

Before he could scramble down out of the booth to retrieve his toy and apologize, the tower of a man was in front of him, holding his bear in one hand and his hat in the other. How did a man so tall get down to the floor and back up so quickly? To young Gon, he only noticed that long white hair and the hooked nose, and the way he looked at him in reproach, even though he was a stranger.

“Your bear seems to have gotten loose. What a careless handler.” His voice was calm and even, unlike the way any adult had ever reacted to him. Usually they either lectured him or put too much enthusiasm in their voices, as if he would get bored if they spoke normally to him. “If he hurts someone, he will need to be put down.”

Even now, looking back, Gon couldn’t believe a grown man, a stranger, would talk about euthanizing animals to a little boy he didn’t even know. But that was what fascinated Gon now; it seemed like Kite had similar, off-putting thoughts like Gon did. A dark sense of humor. A brain that wouldn’t be concerned or scared of what came out of Gon’s.

At that time, Gon had been so shocked by Kite’s words and demeanor, instead of sputtering the apology he’d been planning, he took a defensive stance and said, “my aunt works here.” Very matter-of-factly, as if his aunt being a barista held some kind of power over this stranger who talked to him like no other adult did.

In genuine surprise, his eyes widened, and it made Gon feel a surge of power over this tall stranger. “Mito is your…aunt?”

“That’s right!”

“By chance, is your father named Ging?”

Gon pressed his knees together then, the fun sucked out of his childish powerplay. All he could produce was a whisper. “Yes, but we shouldn’t talk about him. Aunt Mito gets very upset.”

“And your name is Gon?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Kite put his hat on quickly, glancing over at the counter where Mito stood, as if he didn’t want to be seen talking to Gon. “It’s nice to meet you, Gon. But I’m afraid I have to get going.”

“Aw, do you really? I still have to stay here for a while. I’m bored, and—” He didn’t know why he was trying to get this man to stay with him. Only a moment ago, he’d wanted to impress and intimidate him into leaving him alone with his toys. Now, he desperately wanted him to stay, and his own change of heart was giving him whiplash.

“I’m sorry, but I really must go.”

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Kite.” And with that, he walked out. Of course, Gon had later asked Mito who Kite was, and why he knew Ging. He was a friend of Ging’s, Mito had reluctantly said. Gon asked if he was a bad man, and Mito said, no, he was actually a very nice, responsible man. Nothing at all like Ging. And over the years, Gon had come into the café a few times, incidentally on a Wednesday, and spoken casually to Kite when he ran into him. The conversation was always small, impersonal, and ended with Kite leaving early.

But Gon was determined this time.

“Gon?”

And right on cue, Kite came back to the booth that Gon was waiting in. The egg salad sandwich was nothing but balled up saran wrap by now. Kite looked shocked to see him waiting purposefully in _his_ booth. In the booth where Kite had been sitting when Gon beamed him in the back of the head with a plastic bear.

This wasn’t going to be small talk, and Kite could sense it, but he slowly sat across from Gon, looking around the room nervously, as if he were on camera or being watched by Mito from the ceiling.

Kite was a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, so Gon didn’t bother with formalities. “I need a favor.”

“Does your aunt know you’re here?”

“Yes, and she knows what I’m about to ask you.” The ball of wrap from the sandwich was wet from the sweat accumulating in his palm.

Kite swallowed visibly but didn’t say anything. Maybe Gon should have let him get his coffee first, but he didn’t want to risk Kite bolting before he got a chance to talk to him. He had asked Mito before why Kite always got away from him quickly, and she assured him that she had not spoken to him or told him he had to stay away from Gon. She liked Kite a reasonable amount, especially for being associated with Ging. She couldn’t think of a reason why Kite always got away from him as soon as was reasonably polite.

“I know I don’t know you very well, and that I’m just some stupid fourteen-year-old kid to you, but I really need a favor. I need to stay with you for a maximum of a week while Mito and Abe are out of town. It might not even be a full week, if she doesn’t get a callback—”

“Gon, I don’t think that’s—”

“Let me finish, please! I don’t know the reason you don’t like me, but I’m willing to figure it out. If it’s because of my dad—there’s a lot of people around town who don’t like me because of him, so I’m used to it.” His mirror-self had seemed resolute and mature when he practiced, but he wasn’t so sure he was able to be that same person in this moment. “But I can show you, if you just give me a chance, that I’m my own person. And I think we would get along, if you would talk to me. Just one chance, that’s all I’m asking for.”

That quieted Kite. He pressed a palm to the knuckles of his other hand, looking down as if replaying every word of Gon’s offer in his head. “Why me?”

Gon sucked in air excitedly, having not been immediately shot down was more than he had been hoping for. Kite was such a reasonable person! This good feeling he’d been having about Kite, it had to be right. “Mito has a really important interview in another city—it’s five hours away. Abe has friends there, so they’re both going to stay with Abe’s friends to save on hotel costs. I’m not allowed to go because I can’t miss that much school. I already had the flu this year, and they’ve threatened to fail me if I have any more absences.”

Rig came over with a black coffee, setting it down on the table in front of Kite and shooting a look at Gon from the corner of his eye. “If you’d like to have your coffee in peace, I can make this an adults-only booth.”

Kite put up a thin, delicate hand. Rig was being so courteous to him even though he’d just admitted with laughter that they called him Twiggy behind his back. “Everything is fine. Thank you for the drink.”

Rig shrugged and walked off, Gon feeling even more like a burden on not only Kite, but Mito and Abe, and any patron that found him to be a pain in the ass for just being young.

After a sip of his coffee, he said, “you’re fourteen. You can’t take care of yourself?”

Gon felt his face burn, even though he knew this question would come. Especially from a man like Kite, who he couldn’t imagine ever being a child or needing help from someone older. “I can, but Mito won’t allow it. She says the area we live in is too rough, and the school is too far away for me to walk. I tried to argue with her, but she said she was going to hire a babysitter.”

A few more sips. “If your pride hurts from that, maybe you are too young to stay by yourself.”

“No! I—I understand why she’s worried. Mito only wants what’s best for me. But I don’t want her to pay for a strange babysitter to come live at our house for a week. And, well, I thought of you.”

No sips punctuated his thinking this time, clearly not expecting the conversation to take this kind of an awkward, intimate turn. They weren’t much closer than if Mito were to hire a babysitter, so for Gon to make them seem closer than they were was surely off-putting. “You’ve never even seen my home. Neither has Mito. Does that seem _more secure_ to you?”

“You’re a good person! Even Mito trusts you, which is really tough to accomplish. She said she would agree if you were alright with it, so yes, this is the more secure option.” He tried to mimic Kite’s wording to make himself sound more adult. He wanted to cross his fingers that it would work, but that would be childish.

A long silence followed. It took every ounce of Gon wanting to seem more grown up for him not to break the silence with more reasons, more persuasion, more negotiation to keep Kite from saying no. The sounds of the billiard balls hitting each other counted the minutes that passed, and Gon tried to imagine Kite leaning over the pool table, hair falling forward and getting in his way as he smacked the white ball with precision. He could only imagine it, because Kite had never played while he was around, always leaving midway through a game if Gon came up to him.

“And who will make sure you get to school? I have work, I’m not a babysitter.”

“I can get myself to school! I’m not a baby. Mito wasn’t sure if you were still at the same address, but she said you used to live fairly close to the school. I can walk, you don’t have to drive me.”

“I’m about a mile away.” He downed the rest of his coffee in one tilt of his head; he didn’t even make a gulp, but the bottom of the cup smacked down roughly on the table. “When?”

Gon’s heart hammered. “She wants to leave Saturday morning.”

Kite took the napkin, slightly stained with coffee, from beside his cup and retrieved a pen from thin air. “That barely leaves me any time to straighten up,” he said as he jotted something down, “you’ll have to sleep on the futon bed in the living room. My place is not kid-friendly. If you have any problem with that, I suggest you stop being so prideful and let your aunt call a babysitter.” He slid the napkin across to Gon with slanted numbers practically carved into the paper. “That’s my cell. You have Mito give me a call to discuss the details.”

“Thank you!” Gon said much too loudly, dropping the ball of saran wrap to clutch the napkin with both hands as if the wind would whisk it away the moment he let go.

Kite stood up, leaving a few dollars in cash on the table for the coffee. As he turned, his hair lifted from his back with a weightless flip, as if there really was wind leaking in through the corner of the room. “Wait, aren’t you going to play pool?” Gon said to his back, realizing it had been less than twenty minutes since Kite had gotten here.

“Gon,” he said, “I’m only doing this as a favor to your aunt. Give her my regards.”

Even though he said that, Gon couldn’t wait until Saturday.  



	2. Anatomical

Without telling Mito or asking Kite, Gon programmed Kite’s number in his phone.

When he handed the napkin to Mito and told her what Kite said, her eyebrows upturned a bit in concern. She was probably thinking along the same lines as Kite—neither of them knew how Kite lived, what he did for a living, or if he’d ever watched after someone else in his life. All they knew about him was the little bit that Mito had learned from being his barista once a week for all of those years, and that he had been a friend of Ging’s at some point.

Mito clearly hadn’t been expecting him to agree, or for Gon to fight so hard in order to avoid the babysitter she had been planning to hire. So now she faced having to follow through on her word, which she only gave when she and Gon had gotten into a heated disagreement about him needing a babysitter. The lines on her forehead and around her eyes were too deep for as young as she was, and Gon felt bad for fighting her so hard on the issue. But it was embarrassing for him to be fourteen and need a babysitter. With Kite it felt like he would be hanging out with a cool, older adult who he wanted to be friends with, not like he was being babysat.

“I’m going to come in and inspect when we drop you off on Saturday,” Mito said, her arms crossed. She had such good things to say about Kite up until she found out Gon was staying there—now she acted as though he were potentially a serial killer until proven otherwise. Overprotective didn’t begin to describe the level Mito was operating on, but Gon loved her for it all the same.

As he packed his bags, she rattled off a list of things he needed—toothbrush, underwear, phone charger, backup phone charger, textbooks, pencils, a directory of important phone numbers, pain medicine, allergy medicine (in case he suddenly discovered he was allergic to something,) lip balm, shampoo, house keys, a map, the address they’d be staying at, and fifty dollars in cash. When he tried to reason with her that Kite most likely had many of these things at his house, she frowned and said, _Gon, you can’t rely on others to be prepared for you_.

Putting bottled water in his second suitcase, his mind wandered to what Kite’s house would be like. He felt like he was going on a camping trip, not to someone’s fully-equipped house.

When Saturday came, Mito and Abe were running late, and Mito didn’t have time to come into Kite’s house to greet him and inspect the surroundings. The traffic had been much heavier than expected—apparently there was a parade happening, and a few main roads were completely barricaded off. By the time they pulled up in front of Kite’s modest house, they had ten minutes to be at the airport. She looked panicked, glancing from Gon to the small front porch where Kite stood waiting and back at Gon again. She put her old, chugging car in park and her hand hovered over the door handle, eyes flicking to the digital clock on the console.

“We really don’t have time, dear. We’ll miss our flight for sure. Gon will be just fine.” Abe piped up from the passenger’s seat. She turned to Gon, in the backseat smashed between his multitude of bags filled with _just-in-case_ preparations. He could swear he had logos all over his skin from how tightly they were pressed against him, making it impossible to get a good look at Kite’s house from the window. “I’m sure Gon will call or text if anything is even slightly amiss. Right?”

“Of course! Don’t worry Mito, everything will be alright. Kite’s a good guy—”

“Gon, don’t trust _anyone_ that much. You call me if there’s anything funny, got it? I’m trusting you to be honest and communicate with me.”

“I will, Mito, I promise.”

“Act like an adult. Don’t make trouble for Kite. Pick up after yourself, rinse your toothpaste out of the sink, and don’t leave your socks in front of the door when you get back from school. We’ll be back early if they decide not to give me a second interview. But plan for a week just in case, right? Let’s hope for the best.”

Gon popped open the backdoor, causing the car to beep in alarm that a child had opened the backdoor while the car was running, and started pushing his bags onto the curb so he could get out. He strapped as many bags as he could to his arms and chest, feeling like a horse pulling at its reins as he pulled himself out of the car.

Mito rolled her window down as he slammed the car door, bags on the curb in a pile at his feet. Unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, which seemed to drop any further argument or warning brewing behind her eyes. Still reeling from the spontaneous affection of an independent fourteen-year-old boy, she blinked hard, at a loss for words.

“I’ll see you in a week, Aunt Mito. I love you.”

The car pulled away slowly, as if she were still thinking about getting out of the car and inspecting every inch of Kite’s home. From the porch Kite slowly stepped down onto the front lawn, long form bending down to pick up a few of his bags, just as he’d picked up Gon’s plastic bear at the King Beetle all those years ago.

“She was running late,” Gon said, if only to break the silence and comfort himself. He was truly concerned about Mito and Abe, they hadn’t gone on a trip like this in the entire time Gon had been alive. Mito had been anxious all week, cleaning heavily and asking herself interview questions in between telling Gon to go to a library or coffeeshop if Kite wasn’t going to be home in the evenings.

“I assumed as much.” With ease he lifted the rest of the bags and hung them on his long limbs. Not waiting for Gon, he took long strides back inside his house, the screen door slamming closed behind him. If Gon ever behaved that way, forgetting his manners that badly, he’d be in trouble with Mito for sure.

Maybe no one had ever taught Kite manners such as waiting for guests and holding the door open so they feel welcome in your home. He could imagine Kite never having had parents. Kite as a child was a miniature version of his adult form, raising himself perfectly well and capably, never so much as falling and scraping his knees but never learning good manners. Gon wanted to ask him, but that was _definitely_ bad manners.

On the porch there a small two-person wooden swing, a few potted plants, and wind chimes dangling from the overhang. There wasn’t much wind sweeping through these fairly urban streets, so the chimes were quiet. A small blue recycling container next to the swing and was filled with empty beer cans, water bottles, old newspapers, and a few cigarette butts. Wasn’t recycling supposed to be _sorted_? It was a good thing Mito hadn’t had the chance to inspect; she would have made a big fuss about seeing cigarette butts.

It felt weird to enter someone’s home like this without knocking or being directly invited, like he was trespassing, but the heavy door gave way to a small foyer with an umbrella stand and a dusty shoe rack with old boots and sandals that probably hadn’t been used in years. As he kicked off his shoes, he contemplated putting them in the shoe rack, but there wasn’t a lot of room, and it seemed like an old beast better left undisturbed, so he put them next to a pair of dress shoes on the floor that seemed to get regular use. Kite was visible in the living room, setting Gon’s things around the futon.

“If you didn’t bring your own blankets and pillows, I think I have a few spares I can lay out.”

“I brought a pillow and a blanket.”

“Just one?”

“Yeah?”

The sounds of a closet door opening came after Kite disappeared into a hall. Coming back with two blankets in his arms he said, “you’ll need more than one. This place becomes an icebox when I sleep. Even three may not be enough. Let me know, and I’ll pick some more up tomorrow.”

The bags on Gon’s arms and chest slowly slid to the floor, and he imagined his toes freezing off while he curled up on the futon. Usually his room was too hot in late spring, because cooling costs were high. Gon wasn’t allowed to touch the thermostat at home. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me stay, Kite. I think it helped Mito not to have to hire a babysitter.”

“I doubt that. She sounded worried on the phone, like her arm was being twisted. Wear your own dirty underwear if you’re the one who didn’t want a babysitter. But, it’s fine. I have no problem with you staying.” Gon opened his mouth to counter, but Kite pressed on. “Have you had lunch?”

All Gon could do was shake his head.

“I usually make food on the weekends instead of going out. Are you a picky eater? Any food allergies?”

All Gon could do was shake his head.

“Good. I’ll make something while you get settled in.”

“Wait—can I see the rest of the house? Your room, the bathroom?”

He paused in the doorway. “Maybe later. Bathroom is down this hall if you need to go.” And with that, he left the room to go fix something he hadn’t even discussed with Gon first. Not being a picky eater to Kite must have given him the idea that he would eat _anything_. Hopefully nothing weird would come out of that kitchen, but if it did, Gon would politely force it down his own throat.

Truthfully, he was a bit put-off by Kite not showing him the rest of the house right away. It was as though he had some secrets not appropriate for kids (or anyone else) hiding in his house, or maybe that was just Mito’s voice in the back of his head making him overly paranoid. This was probably a situation just like when he went on ahead into the house and left Gon outside. He didn’t have manners. He clearly hadn’t been taught better. It was cruel to judge him like that; Kite was a kind man.

For Kite having expected Mito to do a home inspection, his living room was pretty messy. It wasn’t dirty, but there was a clear disorganization that felt like a constant force, as if the disorganization was perfectly functional. Or maybe this _was_ Kite having cleaned up, which was even sadder. This was what Gon’s room looked like after a weekend of scrambling last-minute to finish a school project.

Mito had a lot of “sets” in her decorations, which always made it especially upsetting when Gon accidentally broke a figure or picture that was part of a themed set. But Kite’s decorations were certainly not sets; they looked as though he’d been given each piece by a completely different friend. Or maybe he’d just found them and placed them in his house without ever planning how it would look next to everything else already adorning his shelves and stands. Clay pots, metal figurines, paintings of animals, and…anatomy charts?

There was a human anatomy chart tacked to the wall above a writing desk covered in papers and a laptop. Gon never had asked what Kite did for a living. Would that be too rude to ask him? Maybe he could find out on his own and save the awkward conversation where it felt like he was prying in this quiet man’s personal business.

This was as good a time as any to snoop. Just so he didn’t have to bother Kite with asking, not for any other reason. It was rude to snoop, but it might be necessary this time. Mito would want to know what he did for a living, right? For safety.

Carefully moving papers on the desk, he saw more anatomy. Textbooks of biology, medicine, anatomy—was he a doctor? This definitely didn’t _look_ like the kind of house a doctor would live in. Not that it was a bad house, it was definitely nicer than the one he, Abe, and Mito lived in. But weren’t doctors supposed to be rich? And not have cigarette butts in their recycling bin and dust on their shoe rack?

His hand recoiled when he touched a bit of Kite’s personal mail. He did _not_ want to start rifling through someone’s personal mail, not even just the envelopes, so he moved to the other side of the room, where there was a bookshelf about his height.

The spines of the books were no help. There was a little bit of everything, just like the decorations—books on animals, textbooks, novels, history, and even poetry collections. One book didn’t have any words on the spine, and Gon pulled it out carefully, hoping to disrupt as little dust as possible. But Kite surely wouldn’t mind him looking at books that were out in the open.

The cover had nothing on it either, black on both sides. A photography album. Gon felt his face heat up, hesitation freezing his hands. He hadn’t wanted to snoop _this_ much, but what if there were photos of Ging in there?

Since Mito liked to keep most of them locked up in her room, he had only seen a handful of photos of Ging in his life. She thought it would upset Gon to see them—and in all honesty, she was right a little bit—but he wanted to see them. The curiosity dug at him every single time he thought about Ging, not because he felt anything was particularly missing from his life, but because Ging was an apparition that had been hanging over his family since he could remember. He was a name that was rarely spoken, a person never to be emulated, and a topic that made Mito upset. All he really knew about Ging was that he was Mito’s cousin, and that he was his father— _biological_ father, Mito liked to add in a huff.

Gon’s fingers moved on their own, possessed by his fourteen years of curiosity, and pried it open to a random page.

Kite looked younger, though Gon wasn’t good at guessing ages, and was eating a meal in an outdoor dining area across from Ging. The chairs and table were wrought iron, and the brick buildings behind them were tall and plentiful, with a neatly kempt lawn like a public park spanning around them. Ging and Kite both looked surprised, candidly holding their plastic forks and looking up at a mascot standing behind their table.

A college campus. Had they attended college together? Ging seemed a bit old to be in college, but that didn’t mean much these days. Something made Gon’s stomach twist up. If Ging had been in college too, maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe Mito didn’t know that he’d turned his life around.

But if that was the case, why hadn’t he reached out to see his son?

“None of the other books caught your eye?” Kite’s voice rang out in the quiet room, followed by Gon fumbling, panicking, and slamming the album shut before he could slide it back into its rightful space. He’d been caught. But Kite strode calmly, carrying a large tray of food, setting it on the coffee table in front of the futon, and taking a seat. “If you don’t like this, I can make you a peanut butter and jelly or something.”

Trudging over to the futon, face hot and humiliated, Gon gingerly sat next to Kite as if the futon would judge him guilty and swallow him up whole if he put all of his weight on it at once. On a metal serving tray were his and Kite’s lunches, identical and colorful. A small bowl of what looked like some kind of tomato bisque; neatly cut, crustless sandwiches with tomato, cucumber, and cheese peeking out; a glass of iced tea; and sliced watermelon next to a salt shaker.

“Did you make all of this?” he said in awe, hands feeling too clumsy to even start touching the nice spread that lay before him.

Kite’s hands stopped, spoon of soup freezing in the air, posed like he’d been in the photo with Ging. A small smile broke out on his face, possibly the first time Gon had ever seen him smile in all of the years since they’d met. “The soup is from a can. All I did is slice some fruits and vegetables.”

“It’s on a tray and everything!”

“Don’t expect me to make food like this during the week. You’ll have to make your own sandwiches and microwave your own soup. Mito let you do that by yourself, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he stirred his soup and picked up the remote control to the 32-inch TV on the stand across the room.

“She cares about me a lot,” Gon said quietly, cradling the sandwich as gently as he could, trying not to let his fingertips crush the fluffy white bread. “She protects me from everything, smothers me, bosses me around, treats me like a baby so much that sometimes I sneak out my window at night and climb up on the roof just to do something she would never let me do. But I already miss her.” The sandwich definitely wasn’t something Gon would have chosen for himself; the vegetables overpowered the small amount of condiments, and he didn’t really care for cucumbers very much, but it was refreshing in a way. A reminder that his surroundings were completely different than how he’d been living his entire life. An adventure where Mito wasn’t there to make his favorites and coax him into eating vegetables.

“Sometimes it takes being away from someone to really appreciate them. Appreciation can’t be taught, only learned through experience.” On the TV was some kind of documentary about a cult, and people were swaying back and forth in black and white like salt and pepper. Kite seemed into it, settling into silence as he ate, his eyes moving with the subjects on screen. It had already been playing for ten minutes when Kite said, “hope you like documentaries.”

“Yeah, I watch them sometimes,” Gon lied. He didn’t like them at all. But this one was fascinating—or at least he didn’t feel bored at all—because he was more interested in what Kite found interesting than what some tricky bastard did to those poor people two decades ago. What made anyone care about something that happened that long ago? What made Kite care about this?

Eventually he got bored of trying to figure it out, deciding to file it away in his mind as something to figure out later when he knew Kite better. They finished their sandwiches and soup, and Gon perched his bare feet up on the futon so he could lean back and eat his watermelon behind a wall of his legs. The forks for the watermelon had small teeth and long handles, and Gon felt fancy as he shook the salt onto each piece he’d stabbed. “Kite?”

“Hm?”

“Did you meet Ging in college?”

Not looking away from the TV, he said, “I don’t want to talk about Ging. If that’s why you decided to stay here, you’ll be disappointed.”

“N-no! That’s not why I wanted to stay here, I promise.”

“I believe you,” he said earnestly and took a bite of watermelon.

A few beats went by, the brainwashed cult members singing a haunting hymn on the TV. It was a good thing Gon wasn’t watching it or he might have nightmares. “So, can I ask other questions?”

“As long as you don’t get your hopes up for answers.”

“I’m curious about your job—”

“No.”

Gon heaved a sigh, not expecting to be outright denied if he risked asking. Maybe it really was something bad, dangerous, or illegal. Those anatomical charts were starting to look sinister. But even if they were, Gon couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of or mistrust Kite. Mito may have been right to chastise him for trusting Kite this much. “Can I ask the reason why you don’t want to say?”

“I like my privacy. And it does tie in somewhat to your fa—Ging. Or at least it would pose questions that would lead down that road.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Fork clinking into the empty glass bowl, he didn’t even remember eating the last few bites of watermelon. He hoped there was more, so he could actually savor it next time. “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Reading, watching documentaries, playing pool, cooking on the weekends,” he paused, straightened his back and turned to Gon, taking the empty bowl from his hands and stacking it on top of his empty bowl, then setting both of them on the tray with a _clink_. “I’m sure you already saw, I smoke sometimes on the porch when I’m bored. I used to jog, but not so much anymore.” He came to a stop, eyebrows pressed together, as if dissatisfied by his own short list of hobbies.

Gon hugged his knees, exposed calves getting a bit of a chill from the air conditioning he wasn’t used to having at home. “Well, maybe we can go jogging? We could both jog in the morning on my way to school.”

“And have you show up sweaty and smelly for class? You don’t want to get that kind of reputation so early.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You just don’t know yet that you mind.”

It seemed as though he was right about everything, or if he wasn’t, he answered with certainty about everything as though he was. He was always giving advice, or chastising him under the guise of advice, but it made him feel differently than when Mito did it. Sometimes he felt like Mito was just saying things to placate him, or to keep him safe in excess. But with Kite’s advice, he relished it. It made him feel good, like his spirit, with unfailing faith, accepted it as gospel. “We could go on the weekends then. Tomorrow morning?”

Kite frowned, “I like to sleep in on Sundays.”

“Well, what about today? We could—we could go right now.”

“In the middle of the afternoon? After we just ate?”

“Sure. I mean, what else would you do after eating lunch on a Saturday?”

“Watch TV, have a smoke,” he stopped himself, as if knowing how sad that sounded. Being the guy who smoked when he was bored and watched TV every Saturday afternoon made his frown deepen further. “You know what? Let’s go for a jog.” He stood, his long legs carrying him up so high that Gon could admire the extreme angle from his place on the couch. Gon wondered how in the world he would ever keep pace with legs the height of skyscrapers. “It doesn’t seem like you’ll stop asking anyway.”

A small, happy laugh escaped Gon’s mouth before he realized what was happening. Any nerves he may have had left over evaporated. “My legs are freezing, I need to warm myself up!”

“If you’re cold right now, you’re going to die tonight. Don’t say I didn’t warn you—we can still go buy more blankets.”

“We’ll see how much energy we have at the end of the jog!” Gon jumped to his feet, letting the excitement course through his body—he started stretching his arms and legs right there in the middle of Kite’s living room. “Let’s _go_!”

“Hold on, hold on. I don’t even know where my running shorts are.” With a flip of hair in his wake, he disappeared down the hall.


	3. Sandalwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me so far in this (admittedly slow) build-up!
> 
> Please tell me what you think in the comments ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

It was hideously hot outside, more muggy than sunny, and there was very little wind to speak of; there were cars everywhere, bustling on a Saturday afternoon with shoppers and travelers. Kite kept saying that he’d underestimated how out of shape he truly was, which meant he was suffering just as much as Gon was, both of them soaked through their clothes with sweat. Gon hadn’t even bothered to change into one of his old shirts; his fairly new t-shirt was hopelessly laden with sweat, so much so that it was sticking to his body.

But between pants they’d talked about this and that—things they passed like cars, restaurants, and people; places they’d been in the past, which led to stories that sparked a contest to see who had had the strangest grocery shopping experience. Kite had the unfair advantage of having many more years beneath his belt, so there was no way Gon could beat his experience of seeing someone climb behind the deli counter, crawl into the glass case, and start eating cooked shrimp. The only thing that had happened to Gon was being hit on by older women and accidentally stealing something he instinctively put in his pocket.

On the way back, they could see the street that had been closed down for the parade. Trash, streamers, and confetti littered the sidewalks and gutters. Abandoned and frozen in time. Mito and Abe on a plane, probably worried about Gon being entrusted to this complete stranger. Or at least Mito would be—talking Abe’s ear off, pulling at her clothes anxiously, wishing she could call Gon to make sure everything was okay. Gon would tell her not to worry. He was exhilarated.

Coming back into Kite’s cold house while wet with sweat chilled them both, unable to catch their breaths since they’d decided to sprint the last block back. Shivering, they kicked their shoes off, Gon taking his socks off with them since he couldn’t stand to keep his socks on longer than necessary.

Kite fiddled with the thermostat, raising the temperature before pulling off his shirt. “It’s probably warmer without these on, surprisingly enough. I’ll grab some towels.”

And it was then that Gon actually noticed the running shorts Kite had pulled out of the dark recesses of his closet. They smelled like mothballs and had the audacity to hit this long-legged man above the mid-thigh, which left miles of pale thighs and calves exposed. Sun-warmed.

He’d been so blinded by the excitement of the jog, by the longest conversation he’d ever had with Kite, that he’d never even noticed—but now that Kite pulled his shirt off for a split second before walking out of the room, he noticed everything, including how low they sat on his hips and the way the bow of tied string hung down in front and swayed as he moved.

He was shocked at himself. He’d never noticed something like that on someone else’s body—he wasn’t the type to look at clothing or how it fit on someone. Not even a lack of clothing usually caught Gon’s attention; he was always berated by Killua for being the most shameless, thoughtless boy in the locker room.

This stirring feeling was foreign.

He’d been planning to pull his shirt off too, but now he felt like keeping his clothes close to this body, lest exposing his skin would somehow expose these new thoughts coursing through him faster than his heart had been pumping during that final sprint.

Collapsing to the hardwood floor, he sat cross-legged in his own sweaty shorts, which hit him unflatteringly below his knees. All of the boys at school wore the same kind and length that he wore, but seeing Kite’s shorts made him want to take scissors to his own. Although his legs could never look like Kite’s.

Fluffy blue towel in one hand, Kite returned with his shirt still off, another towel draped around his neck. A slight squint was him questioning why Gon hadn’t thrown off his shirt to follow suit, but he threw the towel and didn’t say anything.

But Gon caught it and felt a bit guilty that he’d made Kite feel self-conscious. He stood, yanking off his shirt and dropping it on the floor unceremoniously as Kite had done, and started mopping up the sweat. “I need some shorts like yours,” he said to break the silence and bring back the comfortable atmosphere they’d had on the jog. “These limit my movement so much.”

Eyes roamed hard over his body and landed on his shorts, evaluating, his eyes a darker shade of brown than they had been outside, but with just as much light in them. Then, as if realizing he’d been staring too long, mashed his syllables together clumsily, “we can get you some—ah, we never bought blankets.”

“It’s okay, I don’t think I’ll need them,” he tried to say lightly, but the high between them was gone. The bubble had burst, Kite holding the towel tightly to his body as if it would do much to cover his bare legs and naked chest.

“I’ll wash these.” Kite plucked his and Gon’s shirts from the floor and disappeared back down the hall. When he came back, he had a clean shirt and pants on.

The sober atmosphere made Gon pull his limbs back in to his body instead of relaxing, self-conscious to be standing shirtless in Kite’s home. Heavy tan lines on his biceps, his forearms looked as though they belonged to someone else. His stomach was a bit pouchy, his shoulders and chest not as wide as a man’s should be.

“Could I get a shower?”

“Of course,” Kite said, walking briefly out of the room and returning with two cold bottles of water, “leave your shorts outside the door and I’ll wash those too.”

Gon blushed heavily, hoping the color didn’t travel visibly down his neck. He’d done his own laundry at home since he was ten years old. First Kite made his lunch and now this? “Shouldn’t I be washing my own stuff?”

“You’ll be here a week. It’s not worth it for me to teach you how to use my washer and dryer. Don’t worry about it.” He waved his hand dismissively, “I don’t produce a lot of laundry on my own, so at least now there will be enough to run a full load. I hate how much water it wastes when it’s not a full load.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Just yell if you can’t find something in the bathroom. It takes a few seconds for the water to get hot, but it should stay hot. If you didn’t bring shampoo or something, feel free to use mine.”

“Mito made sure I packed _everything_ ,” Gon said and immediately regretted. It made him sound like a baby who couldn’t pack himself, like he’d needed guidance the entire time. And just then, as if to make matters worse, his cell phone vibrated on the table. Mito had texted him.

His blood pressure finally down, Gon was chilled all over; the towel, no matter how fluffy, wasn’t keeping his chest warm. Kite’s eyes were on him as he moved across the room for his phone, as if waiting to help him into the shower—that thought made everything worse.

Mito’s text lit up the screen, Gon thankful that he could put his focus on something that wasn’t long legs and running shorts, or thoughts of Kite deciding to save water by showering with Gon. If he thought about it too long, he might have an _inconvenient_ dream on Kite’s futon.

Her text said they had just gotten off the plane safely, but more importantly, how were things?

_Everything okay? Any problems?_

_Make sure Kite knows where the nearest hospital is, just in case._

_And tell him that anything you need I will reimburse him._

_Hello??_

Mito was a chronic multi-texter. Gon texted back quickly, before she started to worry: _Everything’s fine. Kite and I went for a jog today. He’s really nice, his house is comfortable. Don’t worry! I’ll tell him. I’m about to get in the shower, so I’ll text you before bed._

When Gon looked up, Kite wasn’t in the room. He expected Gon to find the shower on his own, no handholding, which was perfectly fine. Preferable, even. 

 

The bathroom was an area that Kite didn’t skimp on. Compared to the rest of the house, the bathroom looked as though it didn’t fit, like it belonged in a much more expensive home. There was nothing similar to the dusty shoe rack—everything was spotless, with brand new towels and washcloths (mostly blue and gray,) matching toothbrush holder and rinse cup, and no grime in the grooves of the granite tile. The tub was the biggest that Gon had ever seen! It also had the granite tile crawling up the sides and the back, built into the wall behind it.

Just looking at it made Gon want to take a bath instead of a shower. This definitely said something about Kite—he loved baths. Maybe taking baths was one of the hobbies he didn’t want to mention because he was embarrassed. But Gon knew better. Who bothered to have a huge tub and bathroom this nice if they didn’t specifically love baths?

It even smelled like sandalwood, or some similar earthy tone that must have been a bath additive at one point. There was built-in shelving above the tub, holding different shampoos, conditioners, bath gels, and scents. Clutching his baggy of shampoo and body wash, he was grateful he’d packed his own, because he wouldn’t even know where to start if he had to rifle through that many bottles.

He stripped down, cracking open the bathroom door and dropping his shorts and underwear in a dirty heap in the hallway, running Kite’s justification through his mind again to keep himself from feeling bad.

This tub could definitely fit two people, Gon thought as he stepped under the running water. It was cold, because he’d been too taken with the surroundings to remember it took a few seconds to get hot. But the shower was so large he could step out of the stream entirely and wait for it to warm up.

Once it warmed, it was perfect. The water pressure was wonderful, the ventilator silent, and the hot water everlasting. He wanted to stay, standing under the hot water forever. Or sit down and play at the bottom of the shower like he used to when he was young.

But good things always needed to end, and this shower would be available the entire time he was staying here. He would ask Kite if he could take a bath next time.

He toweled off, changed into the pajamas he’d brought with him, and brushed his teeth mindlessly.

When he opened the door, his clothes in the hall had already been taken and there was a strong scent of spices wafting through every room. Only now did his stomach growl.

And again, much to his embarrassment, Kite brought two bowls of baked spaghetti out on a tray. At this time of night, if Mito was too exhausted from work and Abe wasn’t feeling well, Gon had cereal or a microwaved hotdog with ketchup.

He’d eaten two meals here already and had never even seen the kitchen. He’d had his clothes washed and didn’t know where the utility room was. Or _any_ room other than the living room and bathroom. He was being confined. But maybe he deserved it after Kite caught him snooping.

“It’s just leftovers. I made it last night.” Kite said, as if an excuse were necessary, eyes moving over Gon’s clumsy fork twirling. Spaghetti was such an easy food to stain the furniture, floors, or coffee table with. Gon focused all of his energy on eating neatly.

“Can I see your room?” he asked suddenly, taking a break from the taxing method of careful eating and wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand.

“Not tonight. I didn’t clean back that far.”

It was a funny thought. Kite cleaning only the rooms he thought Mito would see. It was something Gon would do, but he couldn’t think of any other adult who would do things that way.

“I don’t mind if it’s messy.”

“Why do you want to see my room? It’s an adult’s room, it’s not fun or interesting.”

Not thinking his answer through fully before speaking, he said, “it’s more interesting _because_ it’s an adult’s bedroom.”

Kite’s hand ghosted towards the TV remote but stopped short. Sometimes when Gon was grounded and confined to the silence and isolation of his room, a loneliness crept over him and he’d turn on the radio just to fill up the room. Ease the weight of no one around him. It was the same as Kite’s documentaries, Gon was sure, because he couldn’t imagine living alone every day of his life.

“I’m sure whatever you’re thinking, your expectations will be disappointed.”

“I didn’t—” Gon dropped his eyes to his spaghetti. “I didn’t mean it like _that_.”

A beat. “I wasn’t implying you meant it like _that_.”

Swallowing hard, he started stuffing his mouth with as many noodles as would possibly fit, hoping he would choke and never have to say another suggestive, stupid thing to Kite again.

“Gon,” Kite said sharply, suddenly, dropping his empty bowl back on the tray. Somehow, he’d managed not to get an ounce of sauce on his mouth or anywhere on him. “Considering your age, I don’t know if you do those kinds of things, but just be sure to confine it to the bathroom. I sometimes come out to get water or to adjust the thermostat at night.”

His fork fell from his hand with a clatter, landing thankfully in the bowl but flinging sauce onto the front of his shirt. Palms sweaty, he couldn’t even look up from the splatter on his oversized sleep shirt.

Somehow, he’d given Kite _that_ impression since he walked through the front door, and his thoughts raced to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Had he stared too long at Kite’s legs? Or his bare chest when his shirt had come off? He scanned the floors and fabric around him, making sure there were no flecks of sauce anywhere else but on him. “I don’t, I mean I—”

“We don’t need to discuss it. Just a precaution.” The hard stop at the end of his sentence soaked up all sound in the room and left a heavy silence. After a moment, probably deciding he had sounded too harsh and clinical, added, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. And,” Kite added, his eyes on Gon’s stained shirt and the smear of sauce on the back of his hand, “I think I might have something to get that stain out. If you want to pull it off, I can put it in the sink to soak.”

It was only the first night and already things had taken an awkward turn for the worse. Maybe Gon’s life would have been infinitely better if he’d kept pursuing Kite at the King Beetle, occasionally getting in snippets of conversation instead of shoving his way into Kite’s life and home. “That’s okay—” He couldn’t bear stripping in front of Kite right now, especially not to have his shirt soaked and scrubbed like Mito had to do to all of his clothes when he was a rambunctious, dirty kid. “It’s an old shirt anyway.”

Since he was already here and couldn’t undo what had been done, he hoped Kite’s opinion of him could still be fixed in the time he was here. To show him he wasn’t some horny, mindless teen who abandoned his socks at the front door and left toothpaste in the sink. Both of which he remembered he had already done in less than a day.

“Got any more documentaries?”

Kite smiled to himself, although Gon could see the curvature of his mouth from his striking profile. No doubt he was thankful for a change in subject as well. The ghost motion he’d made for the remote a while ago became corporeal, Gon having never seen anyone hit buttons so quickly in his life.

Some documentary flicked on, the kind with black and white footage, and Gon instantly grew sleepy. Bowl empty and nestled on the tray, he slumped back onto the futon, body lopsided and relaxed from the hot shower and the cold air of the room.

The sandman tugged his eyelids down like a stubborn curtain, Gon’s attempts to keep them open resulting in the futile fluttering of long eyelashes. One leg straightened and the other curled up onto the futon, he vaguely wondered what time it was. What a kid he was for falling asleep on a Saturday night near his weekday bedtime.

“I should have asked you which one you wanted to watch—” Kite said after being wholly invested for ten minutes in the documentary, stopping when he noticed Gon slumping onto his arm, eyes closed with phantom tremblings of fighting sleep. He looked up, checking the clock on the wall, and muttered, _ah_. As if it were plainly obvious that fourteen-year-olds all around the world fell asleep simultaneously at this time of night.

The television clicked off, leaving a soothing silence and the sound of Kite’s voice, talking to himself. “I suppose I could get in the shower now and finish the laundry.” Shimmying out of the way, as if the boy’s sleepy body was a falling Jenga tower, Kite took up the tray and went into the kitchen.

So tired it was now agony to be awake, Gon let himself fall the rest of the way onto the futon, which hadn’t even been pulled out into bed form yet, and shivered at the loss of the body next to him. His hair was still damp, his blankets packed away in one of his bags.

When Kite came back, he put the futon into bed form, working around Gon’s lifeless body. There was a warmth in Gon’s chest spreading from Kite’s calm, quiet movements to situate him for bed. He didn’t have to do this—he barely knew Gon and had no responsibility to try and tuck a teenager into bed. And so gently too, instead of Mito’s rude awakenings when he accidentally fell asleep in the living room on a school night.

Mumbled protests and apologies failed before they could properly form and leave Gon’s lips.

The blankets that Kite had gotten out of the closet were tossed on top of Gon one after the other, and after determining he wouldn’t be able to find Gon’s pillows in his many bags, retrieved spares from the closet and sat them at the edge of the futon.

He touched Gon’s shoulder, unexpectedly, and gave it a small shake. The heat crawled up across his collarbone and neck, half-asleep state making the simple touch more intense. “Move up to the pillow.”

Gon did as he was told, inching himself up like a caterpillar while trying to take the blankets with him. The exhaustion made his body tingle. Even though his eyes stayed closed, there was a click, and he could tell the lights had been turned out.

“Goodnight.” Kite said in a low voice from the hall. “Knock if you need anything.”

Gon’s addled brain realized that he didn’t know where Kite’s room even was, so how could he knock? But he had no doubt he would sleep heavily through the night. “Kite?” he croaked, his voice coming out an ugly garbled bit of syllables that cracked.

“Yes?” Somehow, Kite understood him.

“Is Ging dead?” Gon didn’t even know what he was asking. His awake self knew better than to push the issue when Kite had already said he wouldn’t talk about Ging. But his half-asleep self knew there was a chance he’d have nightmares about a man he’d never met being dead, dying, or worse.

There was a long silence. Possibly Kite trying to decide whether or not to tell him the truth, thinking about how to say it, or waiting for him to fall back asleep so he didn’t have to respond. Angry at Gon for asking despite being told he didn’t want to talk about it, angry at himself for letting Gon stay here. Even if Gon’s eyes were open, he wouldn’t have been able to see his expression in the dark, his back bathed in light from the bathroom.

But Kite said, “of course not,” and shut the door to his sandalwood sanctuary.


	4. Thawing

That night, Gon woke up so cold it was painful. Damp hair feeling like one big icicle, there was a crick in his neck that jabbed him with pain every time he tried to turn his head. For a moment, he forgot where he was, the walls around him were wide and empty compared to his bedroom at home.

“Kite wasn’t kidding,” he muttered to himself as he unstuck his legs from their bent, desperate attempt to curl up into the rest of his body. Neck throbbing, he jumped to his feet and dug clumsily in the dark through his bags to find the other blanket and pillows he’d packed.

Before going back to bed, he put a pair of sleep pants on over the shorts he’d foolishly fallen asleep in. “Kite wasn’t kidding,” he muttered again as he wrapped himself up in a nest of pillows and blankets. A desperate, squirming attempt to stay warm. He thought again about his toes curling up and falling off, but was too cold to get up again to find a pair of socks.

The next day was Sunday, and Kite slept in as promised.

Gon had had the worst night of sleep of his life, his neck still aching, and tried to keep sleeping despite the sunlight pouring in through the windows. He’d never been so cold while bathed in sunlight. If the sun would catch him on fire, he’d be happy as a pile of ash, staying embedded in the fibers of the futon forever. Laying miserably awake, he thought about what it would be like to become tiny particles.

When Kite woke up, he left pancakes on the coffee table for a groaning, delirious Gon. He ate his own pancakes quickly in his computer chair and then left to get groceries, barely a word shared between them.

Eventually Gon poked through the stack pancakes, hoping he wasn’t getting sick, and flipped on the TV to watch cartoons he was too tired to concentrate on. After he laid there for two hours, unable to eat his pancakes or move without aching, he realized he was definitely sick.

When Kite came home, Gon changed the channel back to the documentary channel, as if it were some sin to watch cartoons in Kite’s presence. Kite walked back and forth to the kitchen and out the front door, Gon feeling guilty he couldn’t help unload groceries.

And then after an extended amount of shuffling from the kitchen, Kite came back into the living room after putting away the groceries. If Gon had felt better, he could have used the groceries as an excuse to go in the kitchen, snoop around, and watch Kite stretch, bend, and stoop to put things away.

It was a lost opportunity to see Kite in his natural habitat, but it felt like an even greater blessing when Kite came over to him, putting a cool hand on his head to check his temperature. Gon wanted to ask him if he owned a thermometer, but he was mesmerized by the way Kite’s thick eyebrows came together in concern or irritation as he gave Gon some pills and a glass of water. No explanation, just the silent passing of things into Gon’s shaky grip, hands brushing. Hoping he wouldn’t get Kite sick too.

He swallowed them without asking what they were, remembering Mito’s words: _Gon, don’t trust anyone that much_.

But even still, his throat didn’t hesitate in opening up. As he knocked them back, he watched Kite hover around his house like a phantom. Gon’s presence was definitely a foreign, obstructing object in Kite’s rituals. A thorn in his home comforts.

After pacing around, not knowing what to do with himself or the sick boy in his care, Kite spent the rest of the day out on the porch with a stack of books.

The house was so quiet without Kite in it. He wasn’t used to being so isolated and lonely when he was feeling ill. Mito usually fussed over him when he was sick. This was one area in which Gon would rather have had her loving touch than Kite’s detached, passive care; but he failed to mention that he was feeling crummy in his texts to her. Since he had school the next day, she was flooding him with things to remember, tell his teachers, and ways to stay safe while walking to and from Kite’s house.

The slamming of the screen door punctuated the coming of dusk, no more lights pouring in through the windows as if Kite had used up all of the light while reading. Gon realized he’d spend his entire day in a zombie state of sniffling, shifting his feet beneath the covers, and drooling on his pillow. Self-pity rose up in him. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his first full day at Kite’s house.

 “Can I see your room?” Gon said weakly, hoping his pathetic voice would draw some pity from Kite, and that he would finally get to see the rest of the house. Or at least pry a bit of the puzzle piece that was Kite’s personal life from his tight grip. Rattle the bars of his cage a little bit with a stuffy whine.

But Kite was not so easily swayed. “If you’re better by tomorrow you can see it.”

“What if I stay sick the entire week?”

“You won’t. Just make sure not to fall asleep with wet hair anymore. I’ll try to raise the temperature a few degrees tonight.” There was a hint of guilt in those dark eyes that Gon hated. He wasn’t meant to have protected Gon from this or cared for him in the way Mito would. Gon was responsible for his own body temperature as he slept and knew better than to do stupid things like fall asleep with wet hair.

Kite paced himself out of the room and eventually came back with tea for both of them. Gon counted the objects around the room in boredom, noticing that there were no photo frames. No photos of anyone outside of his album on the shelf.

Gon had never liked tea, but said, “Thank you.”

“Drink it,” Kite insisted, as if he knew Gon disliked it. “I put sugar in it. It will help keep you warm.”

“Are you going to bed already?” he asked, pushing the handle of the teacup until it spun in a circle on the table. If he spun it fast enough, the tea would evaporate without Kite knowing he was too immature to like tea.

“Yes. I have work tomorrow, so I may be gone when you wake up.” He nodded towards a hook rail near the front door. “There’s a spare set of keys hanging up there. Lock up after you leave and be sure not to misplace them.”

“Shouldn’t I know where your work is? Just in case?”

“Nice try.” And in response to Gon’s smile, “Drink your tea. I think you’ll be feeling better by the time you wake up tomorrow.”

“I hope so.” He had to walk, and he certainly couldn’t miss school—that was the entire reason he couldn’t go with Mito and Abe in the first place. He made sure his phone was plugged in and that his four alarms were properly set. The only thing more stubborn than Gon was sleepy Gon with access to a snooze button.

As Kite stood with his tea to go back to bed, he lingered, hovering over Gon as if thinking deeply about something. Maybe he wanted to say something. Gon remembered that he’d asked about Ging last night, but he couldn’t bring himself to spit out the topic either. Finally, Kite said, “Let me know if you find a good documentary.”

“Goodnight, Kite. Thank you.”

He nodded, turning out the light so that the rays from the TV were the only light by which Gon could see to drink his tea. There was sugar in it, but it was still nasty as it slid down his throat all at once, Gon chugging it so he didn’t have to taste it again.

 

The familiar angles of sunlight bled through Gon’s eyelids as his alarm went off. He reached for the snooze button automatically, but a hand caught his, startling him enough to open his eyes. Suddenly fully awake.

“Why put yourself through the agony of letting your alarm go off again and again?”

“Kite—wha—I thought you would have left for work already.” Eye-level with Kite’s nicely-tailored dress pants, Gon rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly.

A slight hesitation, as if Kite had not thought his explanation entirely through. “I thought you might not be fully recovered after all. To make you walk in that condition might put you further off the track of recovery. I have the luxury of leaving when I’d like on some days, as long as I don’t have any appointments scheduled, so I thought I’d give you a ride. Just for today.”

He was already feeling much better, his energy gathering up in his limbs more every moment in ways that it refused to do yesterday. But he wouldn’t tell Kite, even though he knew he shouldn’t be needlessly taking advantage of Kite’s kindness.

The black dress pants set some toast and a peeled orange in front of him on the coffee table. Gon’s brain still wasn’t registering anything, as it usually refused to do when he woke up early for school. “You’re just making me more curious.”

Kite laughed, which was a wonderful sound to wake up to. His sleep-addled brain decided he wanted to wake up to that sound every single day until he died. “It’s not that interesting, I assure you. Just like my bedroom, your expectations for intrigue are too high.”

“Did you ever think,” Gon said as he stuck a slice of orange in his mouth, “that you being secretive is what’s causing high expectations?”

There was a jingle of keys as the long legs moved towards the front door. He was holding a duffle bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Gon couldn’t have known on that morning that he’d more accurately diagnosed this situation than any other in his life.

“I suppose you’re right,” Kite said, the front door opening to let in a morning breeze and the sounds of birds and windchimes on the porch. It whipped his hair back into the house, as if it didn’t want him to leave. “I create these problems for myself, don’t I?”

 

“And you know what I found in his car? Some weird looking forceps. They were stuck in between the passenger’s seat and the center console. I don’t think he even knows they’re in there, but I saw them.”

“Yep. Definitely black market,” Killua said matter-of-factly, leaning on the locker next to Gon’s, even though Gon’s locker mate hated when he did that, and they both always got dirty looks when he got caught. But not even Killua’s family got to tell him what to do, let alone some guy who collected fancy calculators and thought of his locker as his own personal space.

“You think? He could just be a doctor…” Gon trailed off, secretly feeling prideful that Killua thought Kite was so dangerous and mysterious, knowing that Gon was staying with him. It raised his own cool points by at least a decent margin, even though it was immensely hard to compete with Killua. “He had anatomy charts in his living room, like he had studied to become a doctor of some kind.”

“Or to study where to cut when he steals a kidney and sells it!” Killua said much too loudly, a few passersby staring at the excitable Zoldyck. He could shout about anything in the middle of the hallways and still not lose an ounce of popularity.

Having a rich and powerful family of lawyers had already paved the way for him to be popular, but Gon was sure that Killua’s personality and demeanor would have made him popular anyway. His family would only take the highest profile, most violent and offensive clientele and had never lost a case; it was a perk that let Killua act however he wanted and never get bothered by authority figures. Gon had even noticed that, by extension of being Killua’s best friend, that he received perks as well. He’d never been denied a hall pass, given detention or suspension (he’d _definitely_ deserved it a few times,) or yelled at by a teacher since becoming Killua’s best friend.

“I still think you should have gone with Mito and Abe. Call the school’s bluff. You know they won’t do anything.” Killua smiled, a row of straight white teeth that always drew the swooning, envious eyes of his multitude of admirers.

Despite the perks, sometimes Killua wished he’d made his own reputation instead of piggybacking off his family’s, but there was no getting around it, and he’d learnt from a young age to be wary of anyone approaching him who wanted to be his friend. Most just wanted money, a popularity boost, or to unravel the mysteries surrounding his family and their clientele.

 “I’m not sure Mito knows the full extent of the…situation. And if she did, she’d absolutely forbid me from taking advantage of it.”

“She knows my last name, Gon.”

“She’s never mentioned it, and she seemed genuinely worried about the school taking action against my absences.”

The bell rang, and Gon let out a small _oops_ under his breath, even though he wouldn’t be reprimanded for being late.

“I’ll walk you to class,” Killua said, heading down the stairs, knowing Gon’s schedule intimately. As much as he complained about his family, he always took the advantages it provided him, even back when Gon had been telling him he probably shouldn’t. Gon gave up protesting a long time ago and learned to enjoy the bits of privilege at school that he never got anywhere else.

Gon knew he wasn’t exactly special—didn’t stand out anywhere academically, artistically, or athletically. Sure, he was intense and competitive, but he still hadn’t found a sport that he didn’t fumble just as well as he played. And making mistakes wasn’t very fun when it would cost a team precious points. So when he got a few perks for being Killua’s friend, he felt special. Even if it was wrong to take advantage of the situation.

Clutching his history textbook to his chest, Gon followed the sound of Killua’s footfalls in the empty halls, still exhausted from his fitful night of sleep on Saturday. “He keeps it _so_ cold in the house at night,” he complained for the fifth time since first bell, punctuating it with a well-timed yawn.

“You should have stayed with us. You could have your own room and control your own thermostat.”

Killua had been trying to get him to stay over for a long time, and Gon almost always turned him down. But all of the times he’d been to Killua’s house it felt huge, empty, and cold—not in the same way Kite’s house was cold, but unfeeling and impersonal. Worse than a hotel. His family was intimidating, and every time they spoke to him it was with words he didn’t know about topics he didn’t understand. Illumi, his oldest brother, visibly hated Gon; and he could swear the man held his breath every time he passed through a room with Gon in it. Their butlers even tried to clean and polish his shoes as soon as he took them off. He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his life.

But that wasn’t the primary reason he didn’t stay with the Zoldycks this time.

“I’ve wanted to know Kite for a long time now. This is my only chance.”

Slowing his pace, Killua fell back, clapped Gon on the shoulder, and flashed a brilliant smile. “I know that, idiot. We’ve been friends long enough.” He always made Gon’s heart beat faster—did Killua know that too? “You should make your week worth it. Don’t get meek and hide in a corner. This dude has run away so many times, but you finally have him cornered.”

They stood outside of Gon’s history classroom, the students inside staring through the open door with resentful envy at the two most untouchable students in school. “You make him sound like an animal.” Gon laughed, reaching up and offering his fist for Killua to bump.

He bumped it. “Wrestle that skittish deer to the floor, just make sure you keep both kidneys inside your body.”

 

After school, Killua caught Gon by the arm and dragged him into the backseat of a lavish, black sports car. “Get in, we’ll take you to Kite’s so you don’t have to walk.”

Gon frowned, thinking about this luxury car showing up on Kite’s quiet street and garnering unwanted attention from the neighbors. But he’d pushed Killua away so often lately he didn’t have the heart to tell him no. He was just getting dropped off, right? Maybe no one would even notice if such a dark car pulled up for a few seconds while Gon rushed out and into the house. “Kite’s probably not home, or else I’d invite you in for a little bit,” Gon lied.

To Gon’s surprise, the driver wasn’t a butler. “Killu has violin practice.” A terse voice like someone had to force every syllable from his throat came from the driver’s seat. The familiar cascade of black hair was all Gon could see, but it was enough to recognize Illumi. Only Kite and Illumi had such long hair, but they were night and day to each other.

“Illumi,” Killua said, his voice hard, “should I call one of the butlers to drive me instead?”

“Just making conversation,” said a voice much softer than the one had heavily implied that Gon fuck off out of his car.  “And that would be a massive waste of resources and gas money,” he added with a click of his tongue.

“ _You—_ ”

“Is this your car, Illumi? It’s so nice. Really comfortable and shiny,” Gon said stupidly to keep them from getting into a spat right there in the school parking lot while teens gathered around to stare and whistle at the expensive car.

Illumi gripped the wheel tightly and pulled out of the parking lot to avoid having to carry on a conversation with Gon. “Address?”

Gon gave him the address he’d saved in the notes on his phone and saw an arch of eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Did Illumi know the area just from the address? Kite’s nice little neighborhood was probably low-class to him; Gon would hate to see how he’d react to his own neighborhood. The persistent threat to pull Killua out of public school and put him into a private school would rapidly become a reality. No doubt Killua knew that, since he had never had a member of his family drive him to or from Gon’s house.

Then the school was far back in the rearview mirror, Illumi using only his own mental map to get to the address Gon had given him. Sometimes he couldn’t help but to be in awe of Illumi just as much as he disliked him.

There were stares from a few people enjoying the warm day on their porches when the flashy sports car slowly pulled up onto the street. They squinted, either trying to see who was inside the tinted windows or being blinded by the sun reflecting off the hubcaps. This must be how celebrities felt everywhere they went.

As soon as Illumi rolled the car to a stop in front of Kite’s house, Gon shouted, “Thanks for the ride, see you at school tomorrow, bye!” and jumped out before Illumi had shifted fully into park, running up to the safety of Kite’s porch.

As the car inched away, Gon felt like the neighbors as he squinted after them, thinking he saw Killua, through the tinted windows, crawl up into the passenger’s seat next to Illumi.

Gon’s phone immediately vibrated in his pocket. A text from Killua that said _is everything alright?_

Unlocking his phone to explain the situation, his phone vibrated again, this time from Mito: _Are you home from school yet?_

And a rapid follow-up: _Not home, I mean. At Kite’s._

She knew what time school let out and hadn’t wasted a second in texting him. He started typing back, telling her he had just walked in, and simultaneously grabbed the door handle so he could walk in without lying to her. Before he could hit send, the door handle refused to turn. And again, he tried it. And again, it stuck.

No key.

He hadn’t grabbed the key before Kite dropped him off that morning. He’d scarfed down his breakfast, half-heartedly gotten dressed, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Thinking the entire time about what Kite’s occupation could be.

Shit.

If only he hadn’t waved Killua and Illumi away so soon, he could have waited at Killua’s until Kite got home from work.

_Killu has violin practice_ , Illumi had said. So actually, no, that wasn’t an option, even if he _did_ feel comfortable enough to call them back now.

He stood awkwardly on the porch, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking around as if someone would pull up to come save him. As if some kind neighbor would recognize him from Saturday and let him in with an extra key. Even though Kite didn’t seem like the kind of man to hand out keys to his house. Something about him struck Gon as lonely, not one to be close to his neighbors. Sitting on his porch alone as others had gettogethers and laughed in their front yards. Laughter just barely reaching Kite’s ears as he smoked and swung on the porch.

Things could be worse. He had a cellphone with a decent amount of battery and strong signal. It was daylight. Things were okay, Gon told himself. Mito didn’t have to find out, if only he could get a message to Kite—

That’s right! He had Kite’s cellphone number programmed into his phone.

When Kite picked up after the third ring and heard Gon say hello he said, “Thank god. I’ve been trying to reach you. I called the school and tried to give you a message, but they wouldn’t do it since I’m not your guardian. I tried to have a colleague drive by your walk route on her lunch break, but she said she didn’t see you walking. I can’t believe I forgot the spare keys this morning.”

“My best friend and his brother dropped me off. I’m so sorry, Kite, I forgot the keys even though last night you said—”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I can’t talk long, I’m incredibly busy right now and only have a few moments until my next appointment. Can you walk to my work? It’s not far—well, about two miles.”

“I can just wait on the porch if that’s easier.”

“That won’t do. The neighbors don’t know you, and if they see a strange teenager sitting on my porch they may call the police. I don’t have time to call them all and tell them it’s okay.”

“Oh—good point. Yeah, I can walk there! Two miles is no big deal.”

“I’ll text you the address and directions. I have to go. Be careful and call if you run into trouble, I might be able to get a colleague to come pick you up instead.”

And with that, he hung up.

The text with the address and detailed directions came in pretty quickly, with the other two texts from Mito and Killua still waiting to be answered. He decided, against a heavy guilt in his chest, to send the text he’d originally composed for Mito—the one that said he was already in Kite’s house, getting ready to start on homework. It would do no good to worry her. Or Killua for that matter.

So he texted Killua, changing the subject: _Violin, huh?_

As he carefully followed Kite’s directions to a location the opposite of his school, he realized he would be finding out what Kite’s occupation was. It was a good thing the Gon of Saturday hadn’t known it would be as easy as forgetting a key to find out, or else he may have made the decision to intentionally “forget” the key. But things had worked out for the better, and Gon was able kept his karma on the upswing, except for lying to Mito.


	5. The Bird and the Braid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy National Boyfriend Day ;3

A veterinary clinic?

Kite worked at a veterinary clinic.

The address and directions Kite had typed out led Gon directly to an upscale veterinary clinic with a big brick sign in front that promised hope for animals.

As Gon walked up the long cobblestone driveway, his thoughts were on why Kite would hide this profession from him. His mind (and Killua’s) had gone to much darker places all because of his secrecy. But a vet clinic? Completely ordinary. Actually, on second thought, _really really cool_. Working with animals all day, trying to help them, was amazing and selfless. Did Kite really value the idea of privacy so much that he would hide an occupation so noble and interesting just for the sake of hiding it?

As Gon got closer, the building got even bigger. It was newly built and had landscaping so tidy it looked like a golf course, with bushes shaped like playing cats and dogs.

Maybe even the illustrious Zoldycks would patronize a clinic like this if they had any pets. Or did they have pets? Gon wasn’t sure. He thought Killua mentioned a dog once; Gon had never seen or heard a dog when he had visited, but he had also never been in their front yard, since their butlers always pulled into a side gate and drove straight to the back of the property to the private entrance.

A cool blast of air rustled his hair and dried the sweat on his face as soon as he walked in. Soft, calming music played from speakers in the ceiling and behind the potted plants (which were real, Gon noted, impressed.) Behind a semi-circle countertop sat a receptionist who stood up as soon as he entered. He wanted to keep looking around at the stacked dogfood display, the mounted TVs playing short infotainment programs of animals getting x-rays, and the patients scattered throughout the large waiting room, but the receptionist captured him with a courteous and attentive smile.

“How can I help you?”

“Um—I’m here to see Kite.”

“Oh, you must be Gon. He took his break early, you can go on back.” She had a strawberry blond bob and a kind smile that wrinkled the corners of her eyes. Gon immediately decided he liked her. Leave it to a place like this to have employees who seemed warm and inviting from the moment you looked at them. Rig would be shocked to see a woman like this, happy to be at her job even when a fourteen-year-old walked in.

She beckoned him back through a door with a wave of her hand, lead him down a curved hallway with certificates and framed photos speeding by his vision, and finally into a breakroom where Kite was sitting at a round table.

His hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, with no hat, which left his pale face unnaturally exposed. His hooked nose stood out even more, the show-stopping feature on his face. His dark, close-set eyes and sharp chin emphasized it as well. Gon had never seen a nose so unique and wondered if Kite felt self-conscious about it.

When he looked up, his eyes were dark and puffy. Turning up the temperature a few degrees the night before must have sapped precious hours of sleep from him.

“Thank you, Mera,” he said to her, “please tell my 4:30 I’ll be there shortly.”

Gon sat down across from him at the round table, watching Kite pack the remainder of his lunch into his duffle bag. Kite clicked his tongue, causing Gon to jump. There was a much more authoritative air about him in his workplace, as if he were used to giving orders under this roof only. “So, I guess you got to find out what I do for a living.”

“I don’t understand,” Gon said, trying to keep the awe out of his voice, “why would you keep _this_ a secret? This is so cool!”

Under Gon’s gaze his long fingers moved together, like a privacy curtain or tinted windows, and covered his nose and mouth, even though he wasn’t eating anymore. “I’m glad you think so. But it’s not always shame that leads someone to keep secrets. I’m not ashamed of what I do, I’m incredibly grateful for my career. Don’t misunderstand.”

Even though Kite said that, he still didn’t understand. Would he find out next that Kite’s bedroom was a mini amusement park? Bitterly, he couldn’t help but think all of this suspicion could be avoided if Kite would just open up to him. It was pure stubbornness! He had nothing to be embarrassed of or worry about, unless he didn’t trust Gon for some reason. As if Gon was going to steal something or show up at his place of business and do something to get him fired if he knew where he worked.

…Maybe that _was_ the case after all. Just because Kite had been welcoming and they’d gone on a jog together didn’t mean that he trusted Gon over the course of two days. By the end of the week, even if things went really well, he still may not end up trusting Gon. His stomach dropped.

But he tried not to think about that. “Your appointment—does that mean you _are_ the vet?”

“I am one of a few vets, yes.”

“Wow! You must be so smart. Kite, you save animals!” He could feel himself gushing, but he couldn’t help it. He could tell Mito now with confidence that Kite was good, he was trustworthy, he was intelligent and loved animals. He had medical experience, and she had no reason to worry about Gon staying in his care, or even being his friend in the long-term. If he could perform CPR on a cat, he could surely do it on Gon, if need be.

The thought made Gon short of breath.

Kite sputtered a bit on his bottled water, cheeks swiftly and suddenly pink all the way up to his visible ears, and Gon realized he probably went too far. Embarrassed him in his place of business. “It’s much more—it’s more complicated than that.” He stumbled over his words, stuffing the bottle back into his bag as well. “I have to go to my next appointment. Can you stay here and uh, work on your homework?”

“Sure, I can wait.” He placed his backpack onto the circular breakroom table as if to illustrate that he had homework he could keep busy with. Although in reality he had very little homework today, he didn’t want Kite to worry about him getting bored.

“Help yourself to the snacks in the cabinets. If it doesn’t have a clear name on it, it’s a community snack. There are waters in the fridge too. Text me or poke your head out into the hall and call for Mera if you need something.” He stood, slipping his white coat back on, which was both fitting and awkward looking on him. Especially with no hat on. Flustered fingers tucked a phantom strand of loose hair behind his ear. “I should be done in about an hour.”

His hair seemed to flip around less, as if it knew he was in a professional setting. Gon was left alone to imagine the client he would be seeing. He’d give anything to be a fly on the wall (or maybe not a fly, since this place was so clean there were no flies) watching Kite’s tender expression, visible entirely with his hair pulled back, as he examined whichever cat, dog, or gerbil in his hands. Listening to its heart, talking in the same soothing voice to the owner as he’d had when he’d told Gon ‘of course not.’ Fingertips running through hair or fur, checking ribs and feeling joints—Gon ran his own hands through his hair, closing his eyes and imagining himself as a small animal.

Okay, homework.

He had some geometry and English, and then he could be free to let his mind wander to places irresponsible and irreverent, the places in Kite’s house he’d yet to go but had freely imagined. If Kite knew, would he react? They’d joked about strange things, like the man in the deli counter and someone accidentally eating a cockroach in a bun at a shady burger joint, but that was a far cry from the ineffable thoughts running through his mind. Thoughts that involved Kite and his fingers and the immaculate bathtub.

Okay, English first.

His vibrating cellphone on the table lit up, displaying a message from Killua that said: _the violin sucks!_

Gon replied, _your family force you?_

The text back said, _yes, and I would have already quit if Illumi wouldn’t tattle on me._

_:( that sucks_

He started in on his homework, trying his best to resist looking up the answers on his phone. He couldn’t recall any of the answers from class, his fingers hovering over the phone that could give him the answer in a few touches. To keep his hands from wandering, he got up to rifle around in the cabinets, finding pretzels, gummies, single-serve applesauce, and chips among other things.

Community snacks. He wished that his classes had community snacks. Someday he would get a nice job that had things like community snacks, where people were more like Mera and less like Rig. If Mito got this new job, would she work with nice people like Mera and bring in fresh baked cookies? She deserved it.

He grabbed a bottle of water before making himself plant his butt back in front of his homework. Eventually he managed to brute-force his way through both English and geometry, his brain feeling fried. A lot of answers were probably wrong.

A knock came on the breakroom door, and Mera poked her smiling head in the room. “How you doing? Find any snacks?”

There were wrappers from demolished gummies all around the table. An empty water bottle, a can of soda he’d recently found and opened. “Yes, thank you!”

“Kite’s running late and wanted me to check on you. Are you still working on homework?”

“I just finished.” He closed up his books and stacked his papers, putting them loosely in his backpack without bothering with a folder. Killua always made fun of him for it, but how wrinkled his papers were wasn’t going to change if the answers were right or wrong.

“Do you want to come with me? I’m going to do a few closing preparations, maybe I can fit a mini tour in there.”

“Please!” Chair skidding loudly, Gon jumped up. He’d been _so bored_. And he was worried that Kite would never give him another chance to look around if not today.

She winked at him in an older-sister kind of way that was different than those mature women who had hit on him in the grocery store. He stuck to her heels down the hall, now going slowly enough to look at the photos of all of the staff on the wall. From janitors, vet techs, Mera, and finally the veterinarians. Kite’s photograph was of him in a suit and tie, hair put back with a braid on one side, tucked behind his ear. He was smiling—probably compulsory for the clinic’s staff photos—with a colorful bird perched on his finger.

Apparently, he’d stopped for too long, feet rooted to the floor and eyes locked on Kite’s smile and his delicate, tasteful braid, because Mera was at the end of the hall, saying, “How long have you known him?” There was a smile in her voice.

“That’s—a bit complicated,” he said, unsticking his teeth from his lip, unaware that he’d been biting it. “I’m staying with him for the week.”

“I’m glad he has someone. In all of the years he’s been here, I’ve never heard him talk about any family or friends. We’ve all been a bit worried about how lonely he seems. Sometimes he will go out for lunch or have a drink with us after work, but he’s never been interested in getting any closer than that.” She walked back a bit to Gon, placing a gentle hand on his back as if he were her friend by extension of being Kite’s. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you a copy of that photo.”

“N—no, that’s—that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

She laughed at him. A kind, encouraging laugh. “Aw, don’t be shy! It’s not the first time I’ve handed out a copy. A lot of clients get flustered over Kite, I swear some of them get new pets just so Kite will do their first round of vaccinations.” They walked down the hall and into a laundry room, Mera folding a few towels and stacking them. “He’s totally different when he’s with them, though. It’s like when he clocks out his voice stops working. Just ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and the weather.”

They went into an operating room with massive lights attached to the ceiling and a metal table in the middle. She straightened up a few things here and there, making it easier for the 3rd shift janitors to clean. “Does—does Kite do surgeries?”

“Oh yes, that’s actually most of what he does.” She cocked a hip, looking around the room as if she hadn’t seen it before. “I think he was going to be a human surgeon, originally. I’m not sure where I heard that; just a rumor that’s been going around so long it’s considered to be true. No one has the guts to ask him.”

“Yeah he—sure loves his privacy.”

“You said it. At least it’s nice to know he’s like that with everyone. We’ve worked with him for years, so for him to still be so closed off made us start to think he didn’t like us. I don’t think he even wants to deal with clients most of the time—when he first came here, he wanted to be exclusively a surgeon, but once he saw the burden it was putting on the other vets he decided to start doing regular appointments like vaccinations and checkups.”

It suddenly clicked in Gon’s mind—the apex of what had drawn him to Kite, their first encounter in which he’d told Gon that his plastic bear toy may have to be euthanized if it had uncontrollable behavior. It all made sense now. Eccentric vet with limited social skills fit the bill for that behavior seamlessly.

“I wonder why he wanted to do surgeries.”

“There are all kinds of reasons. The pay is better, you can be more antisocial—but if I were to guess, in Kite’s case it’s because he’s amazing at them. A true talent, with speed, precision, and unshakable calm under pressure. He could be one of the best in the country if he wanted to pack up and move to one of the top clinics, but he doesn’t want to leave the area for some reason. You’re the first friend I’ve seen him with, so it’s a mystery to me as to why he wouldn’t want to take up a better position somewhere. Oh! I have to go count the register.”

He walked after her in a haze. A surgeon did seem fitting for Kite, who had a stare that could cut you open, but Gon never would have guessed from the way he lived and composed himself. His house was messy, unorganized, and modest. The small, middle class suburb had a bit of litter on near the storm drain. He didn’t carry himself with confidence and prestige, or act like he had a lot of money. Killua’s family, who were the best in their careers, were completely different. Could Kite have the potential to live like them? What was stopping him?

Kite was in the waiting room walking out his last client when they came out to the register. There was a smile plastered on his face, which was fake, but still made Gon feel warm. “There’s no need to worry, just bring her back in three weeks and we’ll see how she’s doing. And if there’s any trouble until then, call me. You have my personal extension.” His hand reached out for the Border Collie in the woman’s arms, hooking a finger behind her pointed ear to soothe the nervous dog. The woman batted her eyelashes harder, calling him “Dr. Kite” with affection.

No wonder he had ladies who fell for him! Gon wished Kite was his doctor.

He locked the door behind the woman as he waved his goodbyes and then turned to Gon. His fake smile fell away, but that was alright with him. Kite didn’t need to put on airs for Gon—in fact, Gon preferred he didn’t. “Ah, we can leave soon—just get your things around.”

Gon went back to the breakroom quickly, grabbed his things, cleaned his mess of wrappers, and also grabbed Kite’s duffle bag and briefcase. His phone had two new messages, one from Killua and one from Mito—of course, the only two people who texted him.

Killua’s said, _I lied. my parents did make me take lessons in the beginning, but I think I actually like the violin. i’ll have to play for you sometime!_

And Mito said, _did you finish your homework?_

Gon wanted to tell Mito what he’d learned about Kite—how amazing he was, how talented, caring, and how safe he felt with someone who had attended medical school. It would make her feel better, prove that Kite was a good guy and not like the horrible men that she’d served over the years at the King Beetle. But for some reason, he felt like he couldn’t tell her. That he _shouldn’t_ tell her, because Kite had kept it from him originally. It would betray his privacy.

Instead he texted her back, _yes!_ and left it at that.

“Thank you, Gon,” he said when he saw both of his bags over Gon’s arms. “I’ll change quickly and then we’ll go.” Taking the duffel bag, he disappeared into the back. Did he have his own office, or was he going to the bathroom? Gon wished he could see Kite’s office, if he had one. But something told him he’d never get to see it.

“Take care of him, Gon,” Mera said. “He needs someone in his life. Don’t let him escape.”

 

That night, they ordered a pizza. Kite wasn’t kidding about the way his diet rapidly shifted between the weekday and the weekend. Again, he hadn’t even asked Gon what he should get on the pizza, going off Gon’s initial declaration that he wasn’t picky. The pizza had banana peppers, olives, and mushrooms. Gon preferred pepperoni—but come to think of it, he’d yet to see Kite eat any kind of meat. The spaghetti hadn’t had meatballs either, which Gon hadn’t thought anything of at the time, but maybe he was a vegetarian. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he get pepperoni on pizza?

As he ate, Kite was quieter than usual, not like he was upset, but like he was absolutely exhausted. He ate his pizza slowly, lounging sloppily on the futon and watching a documentary without his eyes following the subjects. A white bandage loosely hung from his wrist.

“Did you get hurt?”

Kite looked at his arm as if he’d forgotten entirely about it, eyes squinting as if he were trying hard to remember what happened. “Oh, yes, a cat scratched me.”

“Are you okay?”

“I make sure to stay up with all of my vaccinations, and the cat had all of hers as well, so more than likely I will be fine.” He scratched it subconsciously. “Funniest thing, cats don’t seem to like me much. Which is a big subsection of clientele that don’t care for me.”

He couldn’t imagine anyone or anything not liking Kite. If cats didn’t like Kite, they were wrong.

They settled back into silence. With the way Kite looked, if Gon ripped off the bandage, the man might deflate into a big puddle of skin on the futon.

“Mera was nice.”

“Yes, she’s a great co-worker.”

The way he said co-worker so firmly was off-putting, if only because Gon still had the last thing she said to him in the back of his mind. It was strange he hadn’t made any friends at work, or even dated. Isn’t that what adults did? He moved away from the topic of Mera. “Did you do any surgeries today?”

Kite narrowed his eyes at the TV, as if running it over in his mind, confirming to himself that he hadn’t told Gon he was a surgeon. “No, there weren’t any today.”

“So you were stuck with client visits all day?”

That got him a direct look of irritation. Gon wondered if he would scold Mera for being so forthcoming with details about him. “Yes, I’m exhausted from all of them.”

“You seemed so friendly though.”

“It’s exhausting to be friendly.”

Gon didn’t think so. For him it came naturally, but he knew now was not the time to make that point about himself. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble today.”

“Sometimes things just happen and it’s no one’s fault.”

Gon kept running Mera’s words through his mind, and Killua’s. Don’t let him escape. Corner him. Don’t let this week end and things go back to normal. He couldn’t bear going back to seeing Kite occasionally at the King Beetle, only to have him be coldly polite and bolt at the soonest convenience.

Sliding his body closer to Kite inch by inch so as not to be noticed, his hip touched Kite’s. Watching for signs on Kite’s face that he noticed or minded, he kept his head facing forward casually. Kite didn’t move or startle, but his eyes were slowly drifting shut as Gon’s had done on Saturday night.

“Maybe you should go to bed early.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed weakly.

“I can clean up the pizza box.”

“Mmm.” His head fell back, sharp chin pointed at the corner of the room. Hooked nose like a sail guiding his head as it lolled on his neck.

“Kite, you’re falling asleep sitting up.”

He nodded, which was more of a messy bob of the head, picking himself up and wordlessly started down the hall at a snail’s pace. Gon heard a door open but didn’t hear it shut. Was his door left open? Poor Kite was so exhausted, hopefully not every day at his job was this exhausting. If that meant doing more surgeries, Gon made a wish that he would get to do more surgeries. Maybe if he moved away to a top clinic he would be able to do nothing but surgeries and have nothing else expected of him. No more fake smiles or women batting their eyelashes at him.

What was keeping him here?

Gon took the pizza box in the kitchen, finally able to look around and see everything—and poke around—instead of being herded out by Kite’s guarded behavior. It was fairly nice, less messy than the living room by a longshot; but that was, he supposed, because Kite also listed cooking as a hobby. Anything that wasn’t a hobby was subject to the chaotic way of living that had left the living room and porch a mess.

Although, on the windowsill above the sink, there was a dead spice garden. Withered, brown, and dry even though they were bathed in sunlight and only a foot away from a sink of endless water. Curled in on themselves.

He wondered at what point Kite had given up on it. Was it spontaneous, or a gradual incline of neglect? Filling a coffee mug, which had been left in the sink on its side, he watered the plants with one motion. Somehow, pouring tap water mixed with traces of coffee on a row of dead plants made him feel better. Like he was helping to put a bandage over the things Kite had neglected, healing Kite’s home in the ways Kite didn’t have the strength to.

Opening every cabinet, Gon found that a lot of daily use items were on the very top shelf, including plastic food containers. He climbed onto the counter, hoping Kite wasn’t a secret kitchen-only germaphobe, and took down the first one that looked large enough for the leftovers.

There was more sliced watermelon in the fridge, and he thought about eating it, but it felt too invasive. Staying at someone else’s home—Killua or Kite’s—was impossible without feeling too uncomfortable enough to do basic things like pull things out of someone’s fridge. But someday he hoped to come here so often that he would feel comfortable doing anything.

He showered quickly (not sure if the sound of the running water would wake Kite) and changed for bed. Kite had laid out a hair dryer for him, and he struggled his way through using it, so he wouldn’t get sick again. Turning the TV to cartoons, he had the volume down low since Kite’s door was open. Bundled up in his blankets and pillows as tightly as he could, he still couldn’t get comfortable. The tea last night had done more than he realized for helping warm him and lure him to sleep.

Shivering in the dark, he couldn’t sleep. Kite kept it _really_ cold and must have forgotten to turn it up a few degrees like he had the night before. Not even three blankets were enough. Having just gotten over a twenty-four-hour sickness, he was afraid to get sick again. There were a lot of reasons why he got up off the futon, turned off the TV, and made his way into the dark hallway towards Kite’s bedroom.

_Don’t let him escape._

He was just going to shut Kite’s door. Or maybe he would wake Kite up, just briefly, and ask him to turn the temperature up.

But as he got closer, he knew he wouldn’t do any of those things.

_Don’t let him escape._

How much warmer could it be in Kite’s room that he could stand dropping the temperature so low?

How much warmer would it be in Kite’s bed?

_He needs someone in his life._

This was Gon’s excuse, his Hail Mary, the way for him to deflect his own needs onto Kite. Mera, you beautiful woman. Killua, the best friend a guy could ask for. Giving him ammo in his arsenal for when the house was cold and his skin ached for contact.

He slipped into the great shadow that was Kite’s bed like a thief after his fitted sheets. Like a small animal that intended to make a nest under the pillows. Kite’s favorite client, that would never scratch or hurt him.

He couldn’t see much in the dark, but could recognize the sleeping form of Kite, stretched like a rope from end to end on his bed. So tall. His hair splattered across his own face with a crimp of wave in places from the band he’d used to put his hair up at work. A light bit of snoring rocked the inside of Gon’s chest as he scooted closer.

Kite was a furnace when he slept. Gon’s body warmed from fingertips to toes immediately without even touching him, no longer wondering why Kite kept his home an icebox at night.

If Gon came to his senses right now, got out of Kite’s bed and went back into the living room, everything would go back to normal. But if he stayed in Kite’s room, it could be calamity in the morning. And even if it wasn’t—there was no way things could go back to the casual way that they had been. Gon was old enough to know better, too old to be pulling the child card anymore. He had no saving grace if he stayed in this bed tonight.

He tucked himself into the covers, the heat traveling up his legs and settling into the pit of his stomach. This was warmer than a bath, he thought as he gave one last squinted look at Kite, who was being eaten by the darkness as if he was behind tinted windows; he finally closed his eyes, letting the heat eat him, hoping Kite would never take a better paying job at some top national clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out this lovely fanart of vet school student kite: 
> 
> https://reinajanai.tumblr.com/post/180461647831/vet-school-student-kite-for-brocons-youth-and


	6. Shaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's really funny? Today I forgot my umbrella and had to walk multiple blocks in the pouring rain.

When he woke, blinking the blurry out of his eyes, he didn’t recognize any of his surroundings. There were beams above him, connecting into four corners of the canopy bed he lay in. The sheets were plush, the mattress pliable, comfortable—much more than his mattress at home, which was lumpy and older than he was.

His dreams were still running like a pinwheel behind his eyes, even though they were open. He could see stars above him, as though he should have been waking up after having slept outside. The sound of a tent flapping in the rough wind. Killua was there too. But they’d never been camping together before. Gon didn’t even know of a place that was wild enough for them to go camping. Kite was there too. He must have been dreaming of them all camping together, all three pressed into a tiny tent for warmth.

But in the canopy bed, there was no Kite beside him, he already knew, because there was a chill in the air that wasn’t being swallowed up by the heat radiating from Kite’s skin. If he was remembering correctly, he actually woke up _sweating_ at one point during the night. Sweating even though the air was so cold he didn’t even need to own a refrigerator. That had to be some sort of medical problem.

Just when he was feeling as though he could lay here forever, he realized he hadn’t woken up to an alarm. Jumping up in a panic, almost getting his legs tangled in the bedding, he had no idea what time it was. He’d left his phone out in the living room, charging. He couldn’t be late for school, Mito would find out, he couldn’t—

Kite was standing in the doorway, Gon’s phone in hand. Stars in his eyes. Incredibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one long leg to the other.

They both froze that way—Gon standing beside the bed and Kite in the doorway, clutching Gon’s phone. Everything unspoken between them spilling out into the room, flooding it. _What are you doing here. Why did you do that. You changed everything, you know. We can’t go back from this._

This was the first time Gon was seeing his room, since it had been too dark the night before.

Gon spoke first, out of necessity. If he hadn’t needed to know, they may have stayed in their awkward, frozen positions forever. Seasons passing by above their heads. “What time is it?”

“Seven. Your alarm just went off.” Extending a long arm towards Gon, he offered the phone as if it were a peace treaty but didn’t move closer. Like an animal (a deer, as Killua had said,) Gon had thoroughly spooked him by crawling into his bed. Maybe he’d even panicked when he woke up next to Gon, thinking that they’d done something horribly immoral and illegal. Scrambling out of bed so quickly it was like a slapstick comedy.

Taking his phone, brushing fingers with Kite, he felt both guilty and exhilarated. Kite hadn’t kicked him out—if he wasn’t angry, there might be hope. But even if he wasn’t angry, he was shaken. Recoiling at Gon’s touch, as if it were laced with pesticides that instantly wilted Kite’s delicate vine hand. But to have good things, there’s always a risk. A gamble. This was just a giant gamble that Gon couldn’t resist making. It was both a step in the right direction and a yank in the wrong one.

“Thank you,” he said to Kite’s retreating back.

“I have to be at work early, so I can’t drop you off.”

A lie?

His voice drifted down the hall, Gon having to hurry up and follow him out into the living room just to hear the rest of what he was saying.

With nothing else to look at while avidly avoiding looking at Gon, he stole glances awkwardly at the briefcase in his hand. Sans duffle bag, he was already dressed in his white coat. Yesterday really had all been a ruse just to keep Gon from discovering his job. He’d planned do carry that duffle bag all week and change at work just to keep his privacy. And then Gon had broken into his kitchen, his room, and then his bed. “There’s milk in the fridge and cereal in the cabinet. There’s also toast, eggs if you can prepare them—”

Kite had surmised, from the properly stored leftovers, that Gon had been in the kitchen last night as well. How flippantly he now told him to go find the milk in a place he’d been blocked from entering before. The way he said it—it was like a bad thing that Gon was being turned loose in the house. It didn’t indicate the kind of trust that would normally come with being given free rein.

“I can figure it out!”

“O-of course.” Definitely frazzled. His hair in that high ponytail, swishing like it was on the end of an agitated horse. Maybe he’d been hoping to leave the house before Gon woke up, to avoid him completely. Leaving this subject untouched would just make it worse later, but Kite rushed out the door. “Don’t forget the house keys.”

Before Gon could answer, the front door slammed shut.

Gon looked down and saw the remnants of an erection through his sleep pants.

 

Halfway through the school day, it started to rain heavily. There was even a bit of thunder and lighting, which made everyone in the class scream in a dramatic, excitable way. Everyone deciding it was fun to forget that they’d been through plenty of thunderstorms. Wordlessly agreeing that it was funny for them all to be terrified. Making the teacher sigh and tsk them.

It was comforting to Gon, who closed his eyes, listened to the rain, and imagined the softness of Kite’s bed in the darkness. Kite’s skin within such close proximity of him. The smell of sandalwood on skin. The camping trip that they’d been on in Gon’s thinly-lingering dreams. At home, Gon usually remembered his dreams to the fullest, and they rarely contained people he actually knew.

In between classes, he’d spilled to Killua that Kite was a vet, because somehow it didn’t feel like a betrayal. How could it be a betrayal to tell Killua, _his best friend_? And besides, Killua just groaned, saying that was boring. When Gon told him which clinic it was, Killua said that his family did take their dog, Mike, to that one. Small world. _Kite was the best vet in the city, possibly one of the best in the country_! Gon defended him to Killua over and over, pulling out little details that had dazzled him to wave in Killua’s face. Desperately wanting Killua to like a man he’d never met.

Killua had just smiled a smug little smile, and said, _oh? Is he?_

The nerve of him calling Kite boring! Why did no one else see how amazing it was that he was a veterinary surgeon? The only other person who understood was Mera.

Gon neglected to mention that he’d snuck into Kite’s bed and made things wholly, miserably awkward between them. Showcased a morning boner in the living room. The merciful rain needed to wash that one away from his mind, otherwise the embarrassment would gnaw at him all day. It was better to cut his losses and not agonize, at least not until Kite brought it up. Which, considering how shaken up he was, maybe he never would.

The rain continued to hammer down the rest of the day, and Gon’s head continued to swim. It was doing too good of a job washing away the memory of that morning, shaking and stirring the rest of his brain too, including the things he needed for class. He failed a quiz and went to the wrong room for his final class. It was retribution for putting Kite in such a compromising position, lying to Mito, and having such twisted daydreams.

After school, Killua met him at his locker again, slouching with his lip puffed out in a pout. “Can’t drop you off today—I guess Milluki is coming to pick me up,” Killua groaned, slapping the locker he was leaning on in a mini tantrum. Mr. Calculator would be furious if he found out.

Gon didn’t know which brother that was; he honestly had a hard time keeping track of Killua’s brothers. _He had so many of them_ , probably more brothers than they had teachers. Or maybe he was accidentally including some of the more prevalent butlers who seemed to hang around Killua more than his own family did.

“You mean there’s one _worse than Illumi_?”

“Illumi can be…convinced. Milluki hates to be inconvenienced, and he’ll already be pissed Mom and Dad are asking him to drive me home. There’s no way he will do anything extra. Sorry, Gon.”

“That’s okay, I can walk!”

“And it had to be on the day it rained, too.”

“I have an umbrella in my locker. It’ll be a nice walk through the rain.” He brandished his frog umbrella from his locker as if drawing it from a sheath, spinning it around on his wrist by the strap.

“Just don’t get struck by lightning.”

“If I do, just call Kite. He’ll operate on me and save my life.” His knuckle banged clumsily on the button of the umbrella, causing it to flare out and nearly smack Killua in the face.

 

It wasn’t a nice walk. The rain was fine, but the wind was brutal and absolutely destroyed Gon’s umbrella, turning it inside out like a sock and breaking the metal pieces that kept it expanded. It became trash, unfixable, and the rain was still coming down hard. Uncaring about anyone’s predicament.

Tossing it in the nearest trashcan, whispering his goodbyes to the happy frogs, he tried to cover his head with his bookbag. Quickly realizing it was hopeless. The rain was pounding to the ground, the wind too wild, and every inch of him was sopping wet in an instant. T-shirt sticking to him, freezing cold, weighing a thousand pounds. His shorts were so wet they were being pulled down his hips by the insistent, violating water that soaked into the cotton.

No one was out walking. Apparently no one else neglected the weather channel like he did, or was stupid enough to brave it anyway. In a few years he would learn to drive, or Killua would, and they would never have to rely on anyone ever again. Going anywhere anytime they wanted in some flashy car Killua’s parents bought him. Maybe it would even have a moonroof he could stick his head out of. Best of all, Killua could come over without having to worry about his family finding out about Gon’s economic status.

But for now, he grabbed the hem of his shorts and held them up manually, thinking about the running shorts Kite had. If he had those shorts, there wouldn’t be enough material to weigh them down, and he wouldn’t have to walk down the street feeling foolish. It hadn’t taken long for puddles to form in the slopes and potholes of the roadside, and he trudged through them, socks already so wet that it wasn’t worth avoiding them.

He had half a mile left to go when among the passing cars he saw a familiar blue jeep. Ankle-deep in a puddle, he stopped, squinting through the torrential downpour to see the driver. Not being able to see or hear anything in the rain, he wrapped his hands around his own cold arms, feeling a chill overtake him. The droplets falling off his hair and onto his face made him want to itch, bat away at it like it was a spider web he’d walked into. But he waited for the jeep’s intentions, watching it slow and pull up to the curb where Gon was standing.

 _What was he doing here?_ Letting him see Gon so horribly compromised and defeated wasn’t something he’d planned. The jeep shifted into park. Insistently. Gon walked up to the passenger door, not wanting to open for fear that the pouring rain would immediately angle into Kite’s vehicle, warping the fabric of his nice seats. And how could he sit down with his shorts carrying gallons of water?

The window rolled down. “ _What are you doing? Get in!_ ”

The white noise of the rain hitting every surface around them drowned out his voice. In fear that he wouldn’t be able to hear Kite a second time, he opened the door and quickly got inside. Settling in with a squelch, it ached him at how wet he was getting the seat.

“Why didn’t you call me if you didn’t have an umbrella?” Kite demanded, voice raised as if the rain were inside the vehicle too, still not pulling away from the curb.

“I had an umbrella!” he yelled back before catching himself, lowering his voice to an adult. “The wind broke it and I had to throw it away.”

“Oh,” Kite said stupidly, blinking as he looked in the rearview mirror. “I’d planned on chastising you, but this seems like it was out of anyone’s control.” A long arm reached into the backseat and pulled a garbage bag up into the front. “There’s a dry towel in there. You can put your wet stuff in the bag, if you’d like. It won’t take us long to get home.”

This was the second time that Kite had dismissed something that was Gon’s fault as being no one’s fault. If Gon had checked the weather on his phone (like Mito had instructed him to do every day while he stayed with Kite,) he would have known the wind was going to be too much for his flimsy little frog umbrella to handle. He could have made sure he had a safe, dry ride.

The first thing Gon removed were his dripping shorts, which Kite had certainly not been expecting, since he whipped his head away from Gon so quickly he could have broken his own neck. But Gon couldn’t help it; his shorts were pressing more and more water into the upholstery with every second he sat there. Suddenly the rain outside the driver’s side window became intriguing to Kite, so Gon took off his socks, shoes, and shirt too. Left only in his red underwear (which were also wet,) the dry towel felt like heaven. “Thank you,” Gon said.

“I hope you don’t mind that towel is from the clinic. We use it for the animals, but it’s clean.” Gon expected as much, since it wasn’t one of the gray or blue towels from Kite’s bathroom. What he hadn’t expected the wrinkles that broke out on Kite’s forehead when he demanded to know where Gon’s umbrella was. Or the way his flimsy anger flipped over to pity, the same way one does when trying to scold a puppy, when he realized Gon’s umbrella had been broken. “I would turn the heat up, but there’s something wrong with it. I meant to get it looked at in the fall—I didn’t think I’d need it for a while.”  That rain sure was _fascinating_. Even his voice was out there in the rain, offhandedly saying things like a kid half-asleep in class.

And then he fell silent, all of his flaky conversation pieces dried up quicker than Gon’s skin.

The rustle of the garbage bag and the rain was all that filled the space between them as Gon wrestled the bag into the backseat. Bookbag still rain-heavy on the floor, he had nothing to cover himself as he sat there shivering.

The man who had clearly never seen rain before was too paralyzed to even look at the center console. Gears remained unshifted, so they stayed in park, a hammering of water on the roof.

Gon’s voice split the atom that was the delicate balance between them. “Wait a minute, you aren’t supposed to be off work yet, right?”

The question seemed to send a bolt of electricity through Kite, as if he’d been caught in some act of deviancy. Gon thought of Mera, who had called him _unshakably calm under pressure_. Surely this was a Kite she couldn’t imagine—a Kite that no one in his life could conjure up, even in depraved fantasies. If Kite could slice open an animal and perform complicated, risky surgeries without anxiety, Gon had drawn blood from a turnip. He’d caused this man to be shaken under the conditions of a perfect storm. Even Kite’s long, flawless hair was frizzy in the rain.

“Well, I—” His hands were in his lap now, writhing in a dance with each other. White-knuckled, either from the cold or from the blood retreating into the center of his body out of fear. “I was concerned you didn’t have an umbrella, so I left early.”

Out of all the things Kite had done for him, this was the most damning.

This terrified man—even after having the sanctity of his home, his bed, and his privacy violated, after seeing Gon’s morning erection, after feeling so cornered and uncomfortable he had to escape from his own home this morning—he still did this. He could have left it alone. Gon was in no danger, even if he did have to walk back in the rain. But this man, this flighty, privacy-obsessed man, brought towels from work in a rush, just in case Gon had gotten wet.

How else was he supposed to take that? _How could he just ignore it_ —there was an aching like a cavity in his stomach that sent his fingers dragging across the slightly-wet seat upholstery. When the wind had first ripped the umbrella from his hands, it had landed in a big puddle, and now dirt was embedded in his fingernails. Streaks of dirty water were splashed from his bare feet all the way up his calves, dark leg hair sticking fast to his skin. The contrast is what ached him most in this moment—Kite with his white hair, clean and neat in his white coat and scrubs. Pale, clean knuckles knocking together. Forgiving and innocent intentions to leave work early with clean towels.

_Wrestle that skittish deer to the floor._

And before he could stop his dirty body, it was hovering off the seat, propelled by every muscle Kite’s skin had warmed the night before, and wrapped his arms around Kite’s broad, white shoulders. Breath coming from his open mouth warmer than the rest of his body, burying it in Kite’s neck as if to graciously make sure he, with his fully-clothed body, was warm enough. Every neck and shoulder muscle beneath Gon’s groping hands tensed up, as if electrified, as if Gon himself were a defibrillator.

“Gon—”

Gon could feel his chest vibrate when he spoke, a man’s strong and low voice that God hadn’t yet gained. His body was a puppet hanging and exposed over the center console, knees on the passenger’s seat. Belly dangling above the cupholders. If anyone could see through the waterfall on the windows, they’d see Gon’s ass in underwear and Kite’s red face. The only part of Gon that didn’t want anyone to see wanted to spare Kite anymore humiliation and pain. Other than that? _Let them see._

“Thank you,” Gon said again, because it was the only safe thing he could say out of all the feelings popcorning in his guts, and then left a small, wet kiss on the side of Kite’s neck. It could have been passed off as a drop of water sliding down from Gon’s nose, but Gon’s memories would never compromise: it was his cold, chapped lips on Kite’s skin.

“We have to get home,” came out in almost a whisper, because it was the only safe thing Kite could say. His chest didn’t vibrate when he whispered. Gon was getting away with so much, he felt like an already-wealthy thief. It took everything Gon had not to climb onto Kite’s lap, pressed between the steering wheel and that broad chest, and find out what bits Kite’s running shorts had left to his rampant imagination.

Instead, Gon sank down Kite’s torso as if scaling the side of a cliff and laid his head on his lap. Wet hair dripped onto Kite’s pants, Gon turning onto his side, trying to make himself comfortable while cupholders jabbed his ribs. The highways of Kite’s legs laid out before his eyes, leading down into the depths of the dark where his foot had been pushing hard on the brakes. One thigh tensed up beneath Gon’s ear and cheek.

Perhaps desperate for this encounter to end, or maybe he’d stubbornly chosen denial as the way he would deal with the situation, Kite didn’t order him back to his seat. Instead, he finally shifted the gear, accidentally brushing Gon’s bare shoulder on the withdraw.

With Kite’s home only half a mile away, Gon wished the car would break down or slow to a crawl. Anything to keep both of them trapped, Gon’s skin wet and bare, with only Kite to keep him warm.

“I’ll get you a new umbrella,” Kite said after a hard swallow, trying not to let an intimate silence hang between them. “You really should be wearing a seatbelt, but I suppose it’s only half a mile.” He chattered on and on like a distant, lonely relative on the phone. A rebellious hand dropped down from the wheel, touching Gon’s wet hair for a moment before recoiling and returning his wet palm to the steering wheel.

 

Kite brought a robe and umbrella out to the car to get Gon, whose bare feet splashed through the puddles. The robe was so long that the bottom hem scraped the ground, wet fabric slapping his ankles and mud crawling up the fluffy gray fabric. The standing water on the wooden porch steps nearly pulled out from under him, Kite giving him a firm shove so he didn’t tip over.

When he stripped off the robe in the foyer, Kite took it from him and put it in the dirty clothes. Muddy water rained down on the hardwood floors the entire way. An arid land praying for rain. “I’ll get your things from the car, you can get in the shower.” His eyes lingered on the splotches of mud on Gon’s calves, which were the least lurid body part being exposed.

“Can I take a bath this time?” Gon asked, emboldened by Kite’s leniencies.

Cheeks pink, Kite pulled his hair out of the ponytail, as if suddenly realizing his face had been too exposed the entire time. The hair that fell over his face covered his cheeks, denying Gon his prize. “Of course.” And with that, headed back out into the rain.

Gon left his underwear outside the bathroom, but this time didn’t sheepishly plop them into the hallway from behind the door. If Kite happened to see his bare ass from the foyer—it was highly unlikely—maybe his entire face would turn red, so much so that his hair couldn’t hide it.

In the bath, Gon could hear the rain pattering; his nose filled with the smell of rosehip from a bottle of bubble bath he found below the sink. Normally, he’d feel the urge to put the bubbles on his face to make a beard, but the rain and aroma were so comforting that he let his eyes slip closed. He could have fallen asleep. If he did, Kite would have to scoop his naked body out like a sick fish. Perform CPR.

More than the water was stirring. Gon speared and flayed this stupid CPR daydream with the mature realization that it was just a kiss with extra steps.

_He wanted Kite to kiss him._

There was an insistent knock at the door, jarring him out of his gradual slip into dreamland. Gon sat up immediately, a hundred scenarios racing through his mind in which Kite intended to join him in the massive tub. “Gon?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I took your cellphone out of the pockets of your shorts—it got ruined in the rain.” _Oh shit._ “Mito called my cellphone and wants to speak with you immediately.” _Oh shit_. His fantasies and relaxation popped like a bubble by a sober dread. Not only had he ruined his phone, which Mito had spent a lot of money on, but he’d worried her to death by not being able to contact him. And worst, he’d been too hungry for Kite’s attention to notice.

“Come in! I’ll talk to her.”

There was a hesitation, and the door didn’t open. A low mumbling behind the door, Kite talking to Mito on the phone. “I’m coming in,” he announced loudly, but the door didn’t swing open, as if allowing Gon time to cover himself up. And then slowly, it swung inward, Kite saying, “Yes, yes, I’ll put him on. He’s in the tub.”

Offering a hand towel to Gon, eyes locked to the floor as he pressed the phone to his ear. Gon wondered if Mito was giving him an earful, blaming him for letting Gon be so irresponsible as to ruin his phone. The sound of moving water: Gon shifting up to take the cloth echoed in the spacious bathroom, as if there weren’t two people present. As soon as Gon dried his hands, Kite held out the phone blindly, eyes still on the floor. A devotee afraid to look at a deity after offering a bad sacrifice.

With a wicked idea lodged in his head, Gon didn’t take the phone. He let a beat or two go by, knowing Kite was anxious about Mito being upset.

 _Finally_ , Kite looked up—and Gon wasted no time catching his eyes, capturing them in his wide, brown irises. Dousing his anxiety with damp eyelashes as he took the phone from his hand.

“Mito? Hey, yeah, it’s me. I’m _so sorry_ —I didn’t realize my phone got ruined. I got caught up in the rain and I was soaked.” Refusing to break eye contact with Kite, who was locked in place with the key swirling down the drain. Almost as if he were afraid Gon would tell her what had happened in the car. “Thank god Kite was there to pick me up. _Mmhm._ Yeah. No, I’m okay. I don’t feel sick.” As much as he regretted that Kite hadn’t come into the bathroom to crawl into the tub with him, he’d rewarded himself with the next best thing, wholly at Kite’s expense. Even though there _had_ been bubbles in the tub, they were quickly starting to thin and disperse. “ _I’ll make sure to stay warm tonight_ ,” he said loudly, “ _just to be certain I don’t get sick_. Yes, I’ll make sure to tell Kite. Sorry again, Mito. I hope your interview is going well. Mhm, I’ll put Kite back on. Love you too.”

With the brightest smile and an unnecessary bit of splashy movement, he handed the phone back up to Kite, never losing eye contact with those dark eyes. But once Kite took it, startled at the rippling waves in the tub clearing away the bubbles, he cast his eyes to the floor again. Gon’s selfish little spell: broken.

“Yes, I’m still here with Gon. I’ll be sure to leave my cellphone with him until we get him a replacement. No—no, don’t worry about paying me back. I insist. I—okay, we’ll talk about it when you come back. Don’t worry about it, I’m—” his eyes flickered up to Gon again so quickly that normal human eyes wouldn’t have seen the movement. But Gon did. Gon was watching him like a hawk. “I’m happy to have him here. Yes, absolutely. I’ll be sure he stays warm so he doesn’t catch cold. I’ll make him some tea too.” A small laugh escaped him as he brought a hand up to his mouth, “I’ll make him drink it, yes.”

It was exhilarating that they had their own secrets, ones that they both knew to keep even though it went unspoken. But it was hard to tell how much of his speech was courtesy to Mito and how much of it he meant. Finally, Kite said, “I’ll tell him. Goodbye.” And hung up. He set the phone on the corner of the bathroom sink. “I’m sure you heard. You’ll be keeping my phone until we can get to a store tomorrow. Mito said,” he blushed, “to tell you she’ll ground you for a month if you do anything to damage it. I told her not to worry about it, but she—”

“Kite?”

Kite looked up instinctively, eyes widening at his own easily-broken resolution. “Can we talk later? It’s really not appropriate—”

“Did you mean what you said? When you said that you’re happy I’m here.”

At the rapidly thinning bubbles, Kite looked away—at the faucet instead of the floor this time. But without hair veiling his face, Gon could see his genuine expression. Lips pursed together tightly, as if trying to hold back the truth, before he finally said, “Yes. It’s nice to have someone here—I mean, not just _someone_. You. You’re a great k—” and stopping himself again, like he was a failing motor and needed to restart himself every few moments. “You’re a special person. You were right when you said you’re not like Ging. I never disliked you to start with, but,” A hard gulp, as if the name Ging had gotten jammed in his throat, “after knowing you, I do like you. You’re definitely worth knowing. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you aren’t, because of Ging or anything else.”

A weak splash of water as Gon kneeled in the tub, needing to feel closer, _closer_ to Kite. Everything in him wanted to drag Kite by his shirt down into the water so roughly they both risked drowning. _Like a mermaid eating its prey_ , Gon thought, and then found himself thinking about Kite’s thighs. “Do you mean you _like me_ —”

“We can finish this conversation later,” Kite said with strength and finality, as if hearing the water move had imbued him with a new type of fear that made him sturdy. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d almost accidentally said _kid_. “After your bath.” Without waiting around for a response or protest, Kite turned and walked out of the bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me~
> 
> Please feel free to tell me what you like, what you don't like, where you think this is going, etc., my lovely readers!
> 
> Also please check out the lovely fanart I received for this chapter: https://reinajanai.tumblr.com/post/179233987476/so-brocons-youth-and-euthanasia-wins-this-is


	7. Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support has been overwhelming!!! Thank you all~

When Gon emerged from the steamy haven, he was starving, planning on microwaving the leftover pizza from last night, but he smelled dinner wafting down the halls the same as he had on the first day. It mixed with the smell of rain that they’d dragged in on their hair and between their fingers. With the thick smell of late spring rain as the backdrop, Gon’s sharp nose could pick out the smell of cabbage. But Kite had already gone into work early, rushed out to pick Gon up, and then had Mito talk his ear off while a naked Gon refused to break eye contact with him. How did he have any energy to cook?

They ate cabbage rolls filled with rice, onion, and potatoes in front of the TV. Again, no meat. Kite’s cellphone lay on the futon next to Gon, his hand wandering over to it every few minutes to make sure it was safe and sound. He wasn’t afraid of being grounded but didn’t want to damage or lose one of Kite’s possessions. It made him nervous to have Kite’s phone—how would Kite stay in contact with anyone while he was at work? And what was worse, Gon knew it had been Kite’s idea to turn over his phone to Gon. Mito would have never suggested inconveniencing Kite in such a way.

The corpse of Gon’s old phone lay at the edge of the coffee table, refusing to even turn on after having been soaked and battered in water for so long. He’d neglected it to death, destroying something Mito had paid so much money for on his birthday last year. It wasn’t the newest model by a long shot, but it was newer than Mito’s phone. She always put his needs before her own.

Now it was busted, along with all of his pictures and contacts. There had been photos from Killua’s birthday last year that no one else had; they were in a watery oblivion now. Speaking of Killua—he wouldn’t be able to get ahold of him either. And Gon couldn’t even text him from Kite’s phone because he didn’t have his number memorized. He had never been good with math or memorizing phone numbers.

Kite was taking much longer to eat because he was fiddling with the cabbage rolls before putting them in his mouth. Even his fingers were nervous and filled with energy, turning them over like a spit above a fire. Then reaching over to the dark neck of a beer bottle, identical to the ones in the recycling bin. Even though he knew Kite drank, he hadn’t expected to see him drink, his fingertips leaving streaks in the frost on the brown glass. His nose like the mast of a flagship every time he tilted it back for a long drink. There was another, unopened beer waiting for him on the coffee table.

Planned drinking.

Asking him what was wrong was worthless when Gon knew that _he was the splinter_ —he just hadn’t expected Kite to react quite so nervously and energetic. Not even his precious documentaries were keeping his attention, as though he’d transformed into an entirely new person in just a few days. But if what Gon had done had pushed him this far, he must have lived an incredibly under-stimulating life up until this point. Beer, cigarettes, documentaries, baths.

Trying to burst the radiating bubble of “don’t touch me” that could rival Mito on a bad day after work, Gon stole a half-eaten bite of cabbage roll that Kite had queued on his plate. “Do you want to go on a jog?” Maybe Kite needed something to use up his energy. His day at work must not have been as exhausting as it had been yesterday.

His glacial stare landed on the stolen food pinched in Gon’s greasy fingers. Gon hoped he would grab it back playfully, make a joke—but his eyes just magnetized to it as Gon slowly put it in his mouth, puffing out his cheeks with a small smile. _An indirect kiss._ Not many things were more intimate than sharing food, even if it was one-sided. Kite’s face turned from him quickly. “You heard Mito, you’re to stay warm—you can’t get sick again. I think it’s still drizzling outside. Besides, you just had a bath.”

Heat crept up Gon’s cheekbones. All of this talk about baths was making him feel like a child, even though Kite was the one who had the hobby of taking baths. All of the things that were elegant and unique about Kite made Gon feel immature. No one would mock Kite for his hobbies, but Gon would have to keep his rosehip skin hidden, even from Killua, if he didn’t want derided with that pretty boy smile. Adulthood was a delicate balance made unfair by every superficial factor.

“Want to go out on the porch?”

This documentary was much newer than the others that had been playing since Saturday. Full-color, wide-screen compatible animals stalked and mauled each other in an overgrown plain of tan grass. The blood vivid and high-definition against the soft colors of savannah gradients and lion fur. Pulps of herbivores that never stood a chance. The commercials with a velvet-voiced narrator asked for money to help preserve wildlife.

 _Stop poaching now! Poaching should have been stopped_ yesterday. _The animals only kill each other this viciously because they are being pushed into smaller and smaller areas of safety. They deserve to live in safety, as they have for millions of years before humans forced their way in and destroyed their peaceful way of life._

He muted their suffering to turn himself fully towards Gon, who forced his way in and destroyed a timid animal’s way of life.

“For what?”

“Just to sit on the porch. Listen to it rain. I don’t know—I don’t have a porch at home.” What they had was two concrete steps that didn’t connect properly to their front door. Cracks up the side penetrated by weeds that tickled Gon’s ankles when he squatted on the cool step in his underwear. Often in the Freecs house, summer was so hot that it was cooler outside than in the stuffy, tight rooms.

“What a mature suggestion,” Kite said in a way that seemed to be criticizing himself for sitting in front of the TV more than complimenting Gon. Maybe Kite’s hobbies weren’t above criticism from _anyone_ , if anyone counted Kite himself.

“It’ll be great. I’ll even wear a jacket to stay one-hundred percent warm.”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” He stood, shutting off the TV, room much dimmer without the glaring screen of hotlines and blood. He clinked the empty beer bottle down, picking up the new one by the neck with three graceful fingers, like a claw machine at the mall holding a prize.  “Again.”

Gon followed suit, standing and smiling in self-satisfaction at all of the little ways he’d twisted Kite’s arm. If he kept twisting and twisting, someday he could wear Kite on his finger like precious jewelry. A piece of jewelry so fine and beautiful that Gon could never afford it, even if he worked minimum wage his entire life. He’d have to lie and steal to get a ring so fine. “Wait—I don’t have a jacket. I didn’t pack one since the weather has been so warm.”

The claw machine fingers swung the bottle into Gon’s grasp so he could saunter down the hall and dig through the closet. The beer seemed to have loosened him, greased his movements out of the stiffness with which he’d eaten his dinner. When Kite came back with one of his jackets, Gon imagined what Kite would look like if he were a silver ring, the stone color would be the blue he loved so much—the color of his towels and his cap. As his arms swam in the long sleeves of the jacket, he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for the old jacket Mito had made him pack, sleeping somewhere in one of his bags.

As they walked out the front door, Kite forgot to take his beer back. Gon cherishing the chilly, wet glass he’d been entrusted with carrying. Adult enough to be trusted with beer.

The sun had already set most of the way; if only Gon had gotten out of the tub a bit sooner, they could have watched it set together. But the darkness was comforting too, like hiding from a thunderstorm under a bunch of covers. The same reason ostriches stick their head in a dark hole when afraid. Even though he could only see the rain fall in places the streetlights lit up, he could hear it all around him, like bushes rustling before a sneak attack.

When Gon was in elementary school, before he knew Killua, he’d had the snot beat out of him by some schoolyard bullies at recess. They’d hidden in the bushes near the property line of the playground, knowing Gon went directly to the back every recess to climb trees by himself. Whatever nasty thing had lodged itself into this group of boys made them want to tear apart someone in an unfair fight, even if that boy was poor and had nothing of value to take. There was no fighting back—three against one in a surprise attack, Gon couldn’t even escape up a tree to get away from their ruthless little fists. They knocked out one of his teeth, which was thankfully a baby tooth, and busted open the arch of his left eyebrow, where he still had a white scar.

Mito had met with every teacher Gon had, the principal, vice principal, and schoolyard supervisor, trying to hold someone accountable. It was then that her wrinkles had first started to set deeply into her young face, unknowing that she hadn’t intended to be this young mother. _Wrinkles don’t care,_ she told him once. _They don’t care how old you are, only how you live your life._

He had replied: _wrinkles seem like a good person._ To which Mito couldn’t help but laugh, repeat it to Abe, and orchestrate a retelling for all of her customers at the King Beetle.

But Gon hadn’t been upset—in fact, it was a point of pride. He went around smiling widely, showing the gap where they’d knocked his tooth out. It was like he’d traded his tooth to buy Mito more wrinkles, because she gave him that disappointed, motherly look whenever he talked about it with excitement to everyone they knew for the next month.

But he couldn’t contain himself. Even though he was only one boy, who was always alone and not particularly tall or strong, the three of them had hidden in the bushes to get the jump on him. He stuck cicada shells in his pockets, always had leaves in his hair and bark sticking to his shirt, but _something_ had made them hide from him. Since then, he kept that unnamed, unknown thing close to him. This thing made him bigger, better than what he actually was. It was the best part about him, even if he didn’t know what it was or how to access it.

“You might think this is sad for a grown man to have,” Kite said softly and gave no further warning before he flipped a switch near the front door. Multi-colored lights strung up on the ceiling of the porch flickered to life, some of them burnt out from disuse, but there were enough to bathe everything in a blue, green, red, and orange. It was like a different porch—the recycling bin with the cigarette butts were orange, as if the long-dead cigarettes had caught the entire bin on fire. A hanging fern behind the swing, which was probably only kept alive due to its access to rain, was touched with yellow and red. The porch swing was in blues and greens.

“ _It’s amazing!_ ” Gon sat on the wooden swing, sending it rocking in the lights, rain picking up speed into more than a drizzle, as if to make Gon even more grateful that he’d lied to get Kite’s jacket on his arms. “December in spring.”

In the lights and the rain and the dark they couldn’t see any other people on the streets or porches, making it feel as though their porch was isolated from the rest of humanity. They were untouchable here, especially as Kite sat next to him on the swing. Gon’s feet could touch if he sat on the edge, but still had a bit of room to dangle; Kite’s were firmly on the ground, couldn’t dangle if he wanted them to. If Gon were that tall and the swing belonged to him, he would suspend it so high that even his long, long legs could hang.

When Kite was short enough for his legs to dangle, _what kind of boy was he? Would they have been friends? As close as he was with Killua?_ Gon tried to imagine him as a gangly fourteen-year-old boy, sitting in his English class, taking diligent notes with a pencil behind his ear. Writing with a fancy pen that he never lost or loaned out. He always took notes and tests in ink. The pencil was only for just-in-cases, or for doodling in the corner of the page when he was ahead of everyone else in the assignments.

“Oh, I forgot—Mera gave me a photo to give you. It’s on the coffee table in an envelope.”

Pathetically, Gon realized he’d been making goo-goo eyes at a boy-Kite that didn’t even exist.

Photo? _Photo!_

“The bird and the braid!” He blurted before he could stop himself. He hadn’t actually expected Mera to do it—or at least, he’d not taken it seriously enough at the time for it to be on his mind.

“The bird and the—” The rest of his sentence floated up into the air like a balloon. Gone into the rainy, dark sky. _It was in an envelope._ He probably had no idea what it was until a moony look of realization wiped across his face. “You asked her for a copy of my staff portrait?”

Accusatory. Dumbfounded.

“No! I didn’t _ask her_ for it. She offered, and I…didn’t say no.”

Even in the blue light Gon could see the pink hues surfacing under Kite’s skin. After a while he said, much too seriously, “I certainly hope you don’t idolize me that much.”

But Gon was too preoccupied with their hips touching and the thought of Kite with his braid in that portrait, gentle finger supporting a little bird. “It’s not _idolizing_. I just think you’re really cool. You—” There were so many good points Gon couldn’t make for fear of making Kite run away, bolt away like he had after exchanging pleasantries at the King Beetle for years. “You help animals. I don’t know what you think is so bad that someone shouldn’t look up to you.”

It was then that Kite noticed his beer perched on Gon’s knee. The hand that shot out to take it was much faster and less graceful than his crane game hand. Grabbing it by the lip, just under the crown of the cap, so he didn’t brush hands with Gon. Out from his pocket he pulled a bottle opener in the shape of a crab. It was cute.

The cap clattered to the floor, and Kite’s fingers made a measured descent around the wet neck before taking an extended drink. The wagging of his Adam’s apple like a lost sailboat on the sea.

Just when Gon was sure he wouldn’t respond, he said, “Animals are the only ones I can help.” Voice far away, as if he hadn’t meant to say it, came from some open and needy place inside him. He finally relaxed, leaning back and putting his arm on the back of the swing behind Gon’s head. “People are exhausting and complicated.” Going to take another drink but stopping short of his lips. “N-no offense,” he scrambled to add, as if he’d made that mistake before and offended someone in the past.

As the rain slowed again, a few isolated fireflies popped up in Kite’s front yard, braving the weather to check out the porch’s colored lighting. Maybe they thought the lights were a new kind of their species that could glow any color. Half of them curious, the other half jealous. Probably very few with kind intentions.

He wondered how humans would ever recognize a new type of human, if one emerged. A new type could already exist, but people just shrug and think _weird_ instead of _new_. Kite could be the new type. The type that received curiosity and confusion and scorn, but rarely ever kindness.

In the distance there were cicada cries, like the wind singing a shy new tune, the suburban neighborhood not offering enough trees to provide them with a full song. In Gon’s neighborhood he sometimes saw bats swooping low, lower than they should, but the bats around here were probably better mannered. “Kite?”

“Hm?”

The way Kite had strictly called Mera a co-worker bothered him. “Is Ging your only friend?”

Mouth twisting into a lethal frown, he said, “This is one of the only times I’ve sat on the porch without having a smoke. You’re making me want one.”

Too far. Too far on top of all the other ways he’d gone too far recently. “Sorry.”

Kite took another drink.

“What’s your favorite kind of animal?”

“I can’t say I have a favorite. But I always thought, if I weren’t so busy with work, I would like a dog.” Gon could definitely imagine it. A dog curled up with him on the futon as he watched documentaries. Going on jogs and then washing a jolly, rambunctious dog in his large bathtub. He’d be much less lonely. “But dogs are social creatures. They require a lot more time than what I have, living alone and working full-time.”

 _This is why people Kite’s age have wives_ , Gon thought. And then realized that was stupid. People didn’t get married so they could have someone else to help take care of a dog.

“Don’t worry about Ging,” Kite said suddenly. Lonely. Convincing _himself_ not to worry about Ging. “Besides, you’re my friend, aren’t you?”

Heart hammering, Gon took advantage of Kite again. He laced his fingers through those white fingers—the ones that held the bird, braided his hair, tied his tie, and badly wanted a smoke when he sat on the porch. “Yes, we’re friends,” he said lowly, as if guarding the confession from any prying ears around them. He’d held hands with Killua before, but never while thinking about the meals he prepared, the scalpel he used to cut open little breathing bodies, and the way they curled guiltily around the steering wheel after running them through Gon’s wet hair.

“To be honest, I don’t know if we are friends,” Kite finally relented, perhaps—or more that Gon hoped—from his hand being held. “I haven’t seen Ging in a long time. I don’t know if we were ever friends. But people always confused him even more than they did me, I think, so I liked to assume we were friends. Even if we only had that in common.” Gon stayed silent, not wanting to say the wrong thing or let loose the endless string of questions about Ging bubbling up in his throat. “But in the end, I’m a person too, aren’t I? So it’s no wonder he’s stayed away.”

Ging was the same kind of isolated person? That was never how Mito had made him sound. She’d made him sound like an irresponsible party boy.

This was the most Gon had ever heard about Ging: only a week earlier, he’d be eating it up greedily. Wanting to know where Ging was now, pressing Kite for a phone number to reach him. But he felt himself caring more about what this all said about Kite more than what it ultimately meant about Ging. The loneliness in his voice made Gon queasy, like he’d eaten too much cotton candy and spun around as quickly as he could. It was as if he’d never shown another living soul his porchlights, or cooked for them, or had them crawl eagerly into his bed. Gon couldn’t really be the first person to experience all of those things with him, could he?

“You went to college, didn’t you?”

Not being able to take it anymore, Kite broke their hand link and from beneath the cushion on the swing pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. As he lit one up, he avoided Gon’s eyes, expecting a judgmental stare. Gon looked past him at the windowsill, where Kite’s now-empty beer bottle had teleported. “Yes, but I wasn’t there for the social aspect. In fact, I rarely spoke to anyone outside of my classes. Mainly because I took the heaviest course load allowed— _no, that’s an excuse_. I was no better socially in college, despite the opportunities right at my fingertips.”

It didn’t make sense. Ging was in that photo with him but he hadn’t listed Ging as an exception. If he hadn’t gone to college with Ging, how did he know him? Not that it mattered much now that Kite’s fingers, as if knowing they had been talked about, were fumbling nervously with the cigarette, pressing it to his lips and dragging in. Opening up had rattled him, even though these confessions didn’t sound so abnormal or embarrassing, it had clearly imprinted on him. Crimped the joints of his personality so deeply it had changed his DNA.

He wanted to tell Kite about the bullies who had hid in the bushes in order to beat him up, about the times he’d gotten suspended for having weird thoughts, how he could feel a rift between himself and other people too—like a sharp-toothed maw opening wider every time he opened his mouth—and how he wanted something more from Kite than anyone his age had a right to want.

But it wouldn’t make Kite feel any better.

He was already afraid of Gon emulating him—if Gon came clean, Kite might smoke the entire pack, curl in on himself like a used-up cigarette, and never come back from it.

“Sometimes I feel like ice.”

 _I slept next to you in bed, you’re the warmest person I’ve ever experienced_ was too much. Way too much. He let the rain and the windchimes answer for him, because his words weren’t enough to make Kite feel better.

A cloud of smoke drifted overhead, causing Gon to cough quietly. Kite put out the cigarette in the recycling bin even though he was only halfway through, smashing it harder than necessary to put out the cherry. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s been an incredibly nerve-wracking day.”

“Because of what I did in the car?”

He looked like fine china that was finally taken down from his sterile cabinet, after years of waiting, only to be dirtied unceremoniously. “Well, yes—but don’t take it personally. I have hang-ups that are too rigid. I read into things when I shouldn’t. It’s not your fault.” As if to illustrate just one of the many things he read too much into, he took Gon’s hand again, replacing the link he’d broken by his need to smoke.

Even though this interpretation was backwards, Gon was giddy, gushing at the touch. Physical initiative no longer in his solo court, he’d let Kite be way off-base for a little while. Let him think _he_ was the abnormal one. “Your jacket is so warm.”

“We might want to be heading in soon, you still have school tomorrow.”

“But I want to stay a bit longer. I love these lights.” Gon tightened his grip on Kite’s hand to emphasize their connection, physically and otherwise. Kite’s white hair reflected and soaked up every color in his porchlights, as if, even though he seemed stern and set in his ways, he was the more gullible and influenceable party between the two of them.

“Sure, we can stay a bit longer.”

Taking advantage of Kite’s leniency, Gon pressed their clasped hands to his chest and laid his head down on Kite’s lap as he’d done in the car, propping a foot up on the chains holding them up. “And to think it hasn’t even been a week since you last tried to avoid me.”

Fourteen-year-old Kite would have a dog, he decided. He would come home from school to a large, happy dog that bowled him over every time. Tiny frame falling to the driveway, a ripple of dimples on his elbows where rocks pinpricked his skin. His dog licking his face. His parents offered to help him with his homework every night, even though he never needed it.

But these imaginings were forced. Not the natural puddling of familiar scenarios that sometimes flooded Gon’s brain, like the camping trip— _that_ had felt like it happened. This—this never happened for Kite. Not in any world.

He let his foot climb and clink down the chain links, imagining the red indent of chain pressed into the sole of his foot. Legs tired. Eyes tired. Curling his body to make it fit on the rest of the swing. Trying to hold onto the image of happiness for Kite, it slipping from his mental grip over and over again. He stopped trying to force it, substituting himself in a happy adult-Kite scenario instead. That stuck. That held fast like industrial glue.  

“You’re not ice. More like frost.” His voice was groggy, the rain making his throat a bit sore.

Kite didn’t respond to that, taking up a small book from the windowsill next to his empty beer bottle. One hand compromised by Gon’s vicelike grip, he started reading aloud from the spot where he’d last left off, Gon having no idea what book it was or what was going on. Just like with the food and documentaries, Kite charged forward with his preferences, hoping that Gon would find a way to catch up and enjoy them for what they were. And he was right, Gon always did find a way to enjoy them--the way being Kite himself.

Long legs pushed and pulled the swing gently as he read in rhythmic tones. The lullaby that put Gon to sleep was the quiet creaking of the chains, the ending rain, and the cicadas. Kite’s reading voice leading the chorus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out the lovely art that was created for this chapter by @dumbasshoe
> 
> https://twitter.com/sadmobu/status/1053869492604817408


	8. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is not Wednesday. Best laid plans and all of that. Work has been taking all of my time, but thank you all for being patient. 
> 
> I know it's not an obligation for me to respond to all comments, but usually I try to. It just hasn't been possible recently. But know I read all of the comments and I appreciate every single one!
> 
> Love, Brocon

His arm was missing. He tried to remember where he left it or who took it, but everything came up fuzzy, like the static on a TV at full volume. He could hear the static too, underneath some documentary about lions eating each other. _Someone took it. Someone took it._ Kite was there, sitting next to him, trying not to look at the stub. His hands lodged deep between his closed thighs, where Gon couldn’t touch them, where they ceased to exist.

“Where did my arm go?”

“I don’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“Where’s Ging?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Killua?”

“I don’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“Oh god, where’s Killua? _Where is he?_ There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Kite didn’t respond. Instead, he turned the TV off. _At least Kite found his hands._ The entire room went black, but the sound of the static remained. Louder now. It made his severed nerve endings itchy, raw.

With the arm that remained, Gon reached over to take Kite’s hand. _Kite was gone too, the darkness swallowed him up._ Instead of a hand, Gon groped over the remote. Desperately, he tried to click the TV back on. Hoping to bring him back. Hoping the lights would come back on. Someone would give his arm back. _Click. Click. Click. Click._ Nothing. Darkness.

 _Click._ It came back on. Lights back on. No Kite, no Killua, no arm. There was a dark coil of hair trailing behind the TV stand. _Was it Illumi’s hair?_

“No, it’s not.” Ging was in the distance, far behind the TV, incredibly tall like an old pine tree.

Gon ignored him, standing up and looking around for Kite. Kite or Killua. Ging grew taller in the distance, saying things that Gon didn’t care to hear. He took a few steps forward, knowing he had to move if he was going to find them. _Arm or no arm, he had to move_.

Bare feet slapping an echo into the static, he tripped over the coil of black hair. Growing so quickly and lacing around his ankles, calves, and thighs—he couldn’t stand back up. Couldn’t sit up. The hair pinned him to the floor, soft and itchy like breaking out into hives on the perfect spring day. _Someone’s lips on the red, swollen flesh. Someone who loves him. But when he looks up, they’re gone._ The hair was a feeling like that.

Ging, sounding like he was getting farther away, said: “You have the strangest dreams, kiddo.”

 

When his eyes fluttered open he was staring at the bottom of Kite’s chin and nose, having somehow thrown himself onto Kite’s chest as he slept. The bedroom and bed were familiar, though Gon had no memory of how he wound up in it this time. And he was surprised to see Kite still in bed, asleep after Gon had already woken.

For a while he lay there, feeling the rise and fall of Kite’s chest come in like lazy waves and wondering what kind of things Kite dreamt about. He didn’t smell like sandalwood, the piercing smell of rain its place. Kite hadn’t had time to shower, the rain that had pelted him as he helped Gon out of the car and went back for his bookbag and clothes had dried on his skin.

 _What time was it?_ Kite’s phone didn’t have Gon’s school alarms set—and anyway, it was probably still in Kite’s jacket pocket, which he didn’t seem to be wearing anymore. He’d probably gotten overheated, flipping it off his arms in a sleep tantrum.

He didn’t want to move, sit up, or disturb Kite’s fragile early-morning sleep. This was an angle he never saw of Kite. The cords of his neck pushing out, making the dips and curves of his throat more dramatic. Nose pointing up like when he took a swig of beer.

Whenever Gon stood too close to him and looked up, Kite always tilted his head down instinctively, as if he didn’t want Gon examining his nose from other angles. There was a clear, guarded kind of discomfort. A curse to be taller than everyone around him when he didn’t want them being able to look up at his features.

But it was a nice angle. He had a strong, sharp jawline that could only be really appreciated by looking under his chin. His nose was slightly crooked, as if he’d had it broken at some point in his life. It made Gon’s chest warm. Visible imperfections meant he was a real person and not someone dreamed up by Gon’s overactive imagination. He’d imagined Ging a few times from old photos, but Gon’s poor memory filtered out any imperfections that may have been in the photo. Sewn together hypothetical body parts—the broad shoulders, rugged jawline, and deep-set eyes of other people he’d seen, standard people from magazines.

That’s how Gon knew his Ging wasn’t real. No more real than an actor powdered up and slimmed down for his starring role on the big screen.

But Kite was here in the flesh: crooked nose and body too thin when he took his shirt off. Spindly legs and old, faded (and one new) scratches on his arms from patients. Eyes that watered and dodged when Gon said something that embarrassed him. Stubble too light and too sparse to give him anything but wispy, unsatisfying facial hair, even if he wanted it.

To think about waking Kite and entering back into the conscious world was torturous, but he had no idea if he was going to be late to school, or if he was _already_ late to school. Kite could be late to work if Gon decided to be selfishly negligent and keep this world in his hands as long as he could. As soon as he woke him, Kite would pull away, get out from under him, and cover his face with a shy hand.

Sighing, Gon picked himself up off Kite’s chest to save him the awkwardness and to look around for a clock. If it was early enough he could go back to sleep.

“Gon?” he slurred, eyes batting hard in an attempt to wake himself up. “Why are you up so early?”

Startled, Gon looked down at him. Blurry irises trying to drink in his surroundings, he was doe-eyed when waking up. “I didn’t know what time it was.”

“I have an alarm clock next to my bed. If it hasn’t gone off yet, we’re fine.”

“Oh.” Gon watched Kite, eyes rapt, knowing he may never see Kite in this position again. “How did I get here?”

“I carried you back after you fell asleep on the porch.” His voice was finally becoming stronger, although there was still the low rumble of sleep in the back of his throat. “I couldn’t put you on the couch again—not after Mito asked me to keep you warm.” Realization spread across his face, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s my fault for needing the house to be so cold at night.”

 Gon sat up on his knees properly, back rigid at the thought of Kite carrying his sleeping body in his arms, trying not to wake him up. Kite was much stronger than he looked if he could carry a fourteen-year-old through multiple doors without waking him. “ _Thank you!_ ” he said much too loudly—if Kite hadn’t been fully awake before, he was now. “Thank you for carrying me.”

Kite sat up, realizing he was too vulnerable lying down, and covered his face with a hand instinctively. Gon wanted to grab it and hold fast, tearing it away from his pink face and slightly-crooked nose. “I’m going to shower before we leave, okay?”

“We?”

The cat scratch from Monday night was fully scabbed over now, with no bandage covering it. It still looked red and angry, but it was healing. Absentmindedly, Kite pressed a thumb over it, dragging all the way down the raised path and back up again. Pressing. Gauging if it still hurt. “After these last two days, I don’t feel like letting you walk to or from school anymore.”

Even though he was right about the last two incidents, he didn’t have to be so blunt about it. “Ouch,” he said, smile playing on his lips.

Dangling his long legs off the bed and stretching his arms behind his head, he let out a big yawn that made Gon feel like going back to sleep. “If I let you walk today, you might end up kidnapped at this rate.” Stretching, he stood, and Gon could see the sharp shoulder blades moving underneath his t-shirt. “So just wait a block down from the school near the hardware store. Otherwise, your school will think I’m the kidnapper.”

“You could leave the front door open, I wouldn’t even run away.”

The messy smile on Kite’s face lit up the room even brighter than the morning sun. “Of course not, because you’d be strapped to the futon. Hours and hours of documentaries. Tea every night.”

This was the rare Kite that made his heart flutter. The same one that had said with a smile that his plastic bear would be euthanized. Not that he didn’t appreciate his other forms too; the skittish, shy Kite of yesterday was cute. “You’d have to carry me to bed every night.”

The Kite of yesterday hadn’t completely disappeared, because his eyes went to the floor and his fingers combed nervously though his sleep-tangled hair in response. “Yes, well—we wouldn’t want to prove Mito’s suspicions right. I’m going to shower now. If I hurry, I can make us some omelets before it’s time to leave.” He’d retreated from the room before his sentence was fully finished, the click of the shutting door travelling down the hallway.

 _Damn._ The small part of Gon that hadn’t woken up frustrated was certainly stimulated now, thinking about Kite tying him up and never letting him leave. He already felt so at home in this house that he could easily imagine himself living here, sleeping in Kite’s bed every night.

But this was the first moment he had enough time to look through Kite’s room without being interrupted. He’d been trusted in here alone, so it wasn’t deceitful to look around. Maybe Kite was now as comfortable with him as he was with Kite. A boy could dream, right?

Kite’s room was fairly small for being the master (and only) bedroom; but from what Gon had witnessed so far, the only thing he did in his room was sleep. There had been no need for Kite to pour money into his bedroom the way he clearly had into the bathroom (and kitchen, to a lesser extent.) And just like the living room and foyer, it was crammed with things in a peaceful sort of disorganization. Dust and wrinkled linen.

The canopy bed took up the most space, being directly in the middle of the room as if two people regularly needed to use both sides—which Gon was thankful for, but Kite would have a lot more room if he put it against the wall in a corner. And the wooden canopy frame was a strange choice for someone lacking space. He imagined Kite being spurred to whimsical, impulsive buying. It made him want to go shopping with Kite, to see the lights in his eyes, as bright as the porch at night, when he laid eyes on something like this canopy bed.

On the corner of the bed was the jacket he’d been wearing, having been haphazardly tossed off by an overheated Gon in the middle of the night. He fished the cellphone out of the pocket for safety and then pulled the jacket on overtop of his tank top. If Kite didn’t say anything, he would wear it to school.

There were dress shirts neatly hanging in the closet, but his dresser drawers were ajar, clothes having been rifled through and never refolded. Before assuring himself that _he did in fact have better self-control than that_ , Gon wondered which one was his underwear drawer.

 _It wasn’t creepy to wonder what kind he wore!_ _It was general curiosity._

But he couldn’t bear to prove Kite right about the necessity of having coddled his privacy like he did, so he left it alone and let the folds of wrinkled clothing hang out of the drawers like teasing tongues.

There was another bookshelf, but it was even dustier, with knickknacks and really old books that would fall apart if held. It was then that his heart became a solid block of ice rapidly melting under a steamer. Between an old sake bottle and an owl bookend was a plastic bear toy that looked much smaller than Gon remembered. But it was unmistakable.

It was dusty like everything else, Gon’s fingers covered in it as soon as he picked it up. Even though the memory of Kite on that day had left an itchy stain in the back of his mind, he’d never concerned himself with the location of the plastic bear. It hadn’t been a favorite, and his toys went missing or lost all of the time at that age, so he hadn’t wondered after it at all. But he would have never guessed he lost it _that day_.

Kite had been in such a hurry to leave after learning who Gon was that he hadn’t realized it was in his hand. It was too late by the time he’d gathered himself enough to see the bear clutched in his sweaty hand. He’d stolen a toy from a child and couldn’t simply give it back.

“He kept it,” Gon whispered to himself to keep the dust from being disturbed. A cogent man like Kite wouldn’t keep a child’s toy around once he’d decided not to return it. Especially since that child was someone he’d spent the next seven years actively avoiding.

“Gon, did you go back to sleep?” From his quick shower Kite came back through the door in his robe—the same robe Gon had dragged through the rain and the mud just yesterday, now clean. His fingers danced in small motions to loop strands of hair around each other, like a sacred prayer his subconscious had memorized. Braid forming rapidly, materialized out of nothing but smooth fingers.

He halted in the doorway, a deer in the headlights while he watched Gon turn the dusty toy over in his hands. He dropped the braid: it falling onto his shoulder and unravelling a bit in neglect.

“He didn’t get euthanized after all.” Gon turned to him, a smile erupting on his face with such force he couldn’t suppress it. He never thought he’d get a chance to bring this up to Kite while he was staying here, and with such a fluent catalyst in his hands.

Striding over with bare feet and a swaying robe hem, Kite stood over Gon and his bear, putting a sleeve to the curve of its back to remove some of the dust. “I’d nearly forgotten I’d said that to you, when you were only—”

“Seven.”

“Right. It was a bit morbid, wasn’t it? I wish you’d forgotten it.”

“I don’t.” Gon stuck the pad of his finger in its open mouth, feeling its sharp, plastic teeth. How many times had his young mind imagined these teeth tearing into another plastic animal, ripping them into ribbons so fine that not even Kite could put them back together again?

“I was taking out my frustrations. I’d just witnessed my first euthanization by the vet I was training under and was feeling—depressed, I think. I was in denial about feeling that way, going to my regular place after work and acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Until you nailed me with it, suddenly reminding me that my day had been out of the ordinary, and I couldn’t hide from it. Saying that kind of thing to a stranger, a little boy? I was definitely taking it out on you.”

The confession of vulnerability was sad and surreal. The response that had fascinated Gon so completely that it had made him pursue Kite in the first place wasn’t for the reasons Gon had projected onto him. Bittersweet. But not disappointing, even if he wasn’t the quirky, odd-brained twin he’d thought he was. He was— _much more than that_ , with more substance revealing itself as each wall of privacy came crumbling down. Like clawing away at an archeological dig; breaking through layers only increased the value of what was buried beneath.

Gon handed the bear to him. Passing cold plastic had never felt so warm. “Is that why you kept it?”

Kite’s robe was no longer clean when he finished wiping off the dust with his sleeve, leaving streaks on the fluffy fabric. “Possibly. Or maybe because it came from Ging’s son.” His eyes slid over to Gon, eyebrows upturning at what he saw on Gon’s face.

“But you aren’t just _Ging’s son_ to me anymore. That may have been my reason before, but it isn’t now.” Bear clean from paws to ears, he put the it back on the dusty shelf, slightly askew from the little pawprints that had marked the spot it had been sitting for seven years. “In fact, I would normally offer to give it back, but this time I refuse. It’s mine now, but for new reasons.”

“You stole a toy from a seven-year-old.”

“Well he’s fourteen now, and I need the luck from it more than he does.”

He had a feeling that Kite wasn’t superstitious, and it poked a leak into his heart. “You’re right. He’s got all of the luck in the world right now.”

“You’ll need to use a bit of that luck if we’re going to get dressed and have breakfast before we have to leave.”

It was then that Gon remembered it was Wednesday. Braid mostly unraveled, Kite undid it even faster than he had threaded it.

 

Killua gave a cattish smile when Gon told the story of the bear and the King Beetle. Ever since Gon had started staying with Kite, it was his burden to tell interesting stories. Usually, his life was so dull that Killua filled most of the conversation with whatever his brothers had done, what vacations they’d been on, or what kind of clients his parents were defending. But now he was fascinated with Kite, despite having never met him, and wanted to know every detail. And Gon mostly obliged, except for telling him about what had happened in the car.

“So all it takes to seduce you is talk of euthanasia, huh?” He elbowed Gon hard in the ribs, his good mood and energy that day was infectious. “You’re a sicko. Don’t come to my house, lots of talk about capital punishment.”

Dipping his tortilla chips into the bright yellow artificial cheese, Gon held it in front of his chest, frozen, as Kite had done in his college photo. “At least I admit it. You want to talk about your secret love affair with the violin?”

It was then he noticed a group of boys at the table adjacent to theirs all had their eyes locked on Killua. On his food. And then back up to Gon, turning away all at once—the sign of guilty gawkers—when they caught Gon looking back at them. Since they were behind Killua’s back, he decided not to say anything for now. Being stared at was nothing new for Killua.

It was rumored that Killua wasn’t allowed to eat the cafeteria food (possibly for good reason) because he always had a packed lunch. This time he had curried salmon with a side of rice, mixed fruit, and a chocolate dessert pizza. Even his bottle of tea didn’t have a label: homemade. The lunches contained things Gon had never even heard of or tried; or sometimes it was a nicer version of whatever happened to be on the school’s lunch menu that day.  

When Killua was younger, he could be persuaded into trading his lunch in favor of pizza or energy drinks, mainly so he didn’t get a reputation for being too snobby to eat the school food. But he’d since stopped taking trades. Gon didn’t blame him. No one would want to turn down or fritter away personalized, homemade lunches.

The strangest part was that Killua refused to talk about where they came from or who made them, even to Gon. And it was highly unusual for Killua to keep things from Gon—if anything, he overshared. Things that were illegal or potentially embarrassing for his family. But the lunches were an absolute secret, and any amount of teasing or prying only twisted Killua’s tongue up, made his eyebrows draw together, and his face get hot. He had been mad at Gon for two days.

Salmon nearly gone, his eyes flittered over to Gon’s sports drink and nachos. “If you mock me for it, I’ll never let you hear me play!”

Under the table, Killua’s leg brushed against his. “I’ll keep my mouth shut then. I can’t wait to hear you play.”

They were staring again, this time at Gon: gossip always spread like fire through the halls. Kite had dropped Gon off two out of three days this week, instead of Abe or Mito. He’d gotten stares as soon as he stepped out of the jeep, heads tilting and turning to catch a better glimpse at the man behind the wheel. No one in middle school would walk up and blatantly ask him who had dropped him off, so rumors stacked on rumors.

Some said he was Killua’s brother; because of their matching hair color, Gon was sure. Killua had a “long-haired” brother, and wires frequently got crossed in juvenile games of telephone. The resulting whispers were of Gon moving in with Killua after his “mom“ and grandma were in a fatal wreck. An expression mixed with equal parts pity and jealousy did, inexplicably, exist. And Gon didn’t appreciate it.

Inevitably, others said Kite was his older boyfriend. Nothing about the interactions they’d witnessed had leant to this rumor—it was just the way middle schoolers were.

Well, maybe him wearing Kite’s jacket to school didn’t help. The oversized sleeves were obvious from a mile away—this wasn’t Gon’s jacket. And there was a new man dropping him off for school. Maybe the rumormongers couldn’t be blamed for that one after all.

Kite would stay an evolving legend on the lips of the jealous and curious. At least until everyone quickly forgot about him and moved on to the next thing.

These boys didn’t give have that look of pity-jealousy or age-gap fascination. But Gon decided not to dignify their staring regardless. Whatever new rumor had surfaced this time, he didn’t care. He put his head down, intentionally ignoring them.

“Do you want to come over after school?”

“I can’t. Today’s Wednesday, and that’s the day Kite always goes to the King Beetle. I want to go with him. I think I’ll finally find out something.”

When Gon fell quiet, Killua arched an eyebrow, a bit taken aback that he was being put off for some nondescript reason. If he didn’t know any better, he would think Gon was trying to avoid coming over to his house. “ _Something_?”

Gon blushed, realizing how foolish he sounded, but ready to plunge even deeper into dumbassery. “Yeah, I’m not sure what yet. About himself or Ging or maybe something else. But he’s been less guarded lately, especially last night and this morning. If we go to the King Beetle, I think he’ll tell me something else.”

Sighing loudly, he kicked Gon’s leg under the table, as if the light brush had only been contingent on doing what Killua wanted him to. “I suppose it can’t be helped. After this week, things will go back to normal. I’ll wait. But you owe me.” And dug into his dessert pizza, chocolate glazing his bottom lip as he stabbed it over and over. Demolishing it quickly, wanting more.

 

Gon followed the same steps he’d taken yesterday, passing the trashcan where he’d had to toss his umbrella. Poor froggy umbrella. He’d managed to wreck so many things in a single day—both his favorite umbrella and his phone. When he stopped in front of the hardware store, he realized he’d barely made it this far yesterday before Kite had picked him up. The trek had seemed a lot longer when the rain was beating him down.

Today it was a sunny spring day, and Gon had to roll up the way too long sleeves of the jacket Kite had loaned him. Bunched up heavily at his elbows, he unzipped it entirely, letting the breeze cool the sweat that had stuck his tank top to his body. Too stubborn and sentimental to take it off and shove it in his bookbag.

One of the employees of the hardware store—or maybe he was the owner—stood just outside the door, sweeping the mat. Over and over. The same spot on the mat. Blocking the door. No doubt from rowdy middle schoolers who would come inside just to alleviate some boredom, practice stealing, and see if they could get away with buying a knife.

Gon tried to look inconspicuous, standing as close to the road as possible as he waited for Kite to pull up. Men like this hardware store owner and Rig all lumped him in with rowdy children that had no respect for other people’s property. No matter how he tried to act different and set himself apart, it never seemed to help or change any minds. It was hard to prove one’s innocence when people who didn’t know you already assumed you were guilty.

Standing there, bouncing in place from all of the nervous, excited energy electrifying his limbs, he finally remembered his dream. When he dipped his toes back into how that dream felt, it was soul-crushing. Like a painful childhood memory that still hurt deeply while feeling nostalgic. Like mixing cookie dough with crushed glass. Mixing pity with jealousy.

Like the camping dream, it had happened before.

Kite: gone. Killua: gone. Ging: there.

Kite was right on time pulling up to the curb. Thinking he was a potential customer, the shop owner stopped sweeping his spotless rug and went back inside.

Clearly, this dream was telling him that Ging came at a price. He could probably push Kite into giving him information about Ging, but it would drive Kite away. He could pester Mito into letting him contact Ging, maybe try and go live with him for a while. Try to get to know him in the way he’d gotten to know Kite. But he’d have to leave Killua behind.

Or maybe it was just a stupid, unsettling dream. Gon had plenty of those.

He settled into the car, which was considerably warmer today and filled with sunlight that bounded off Kite’s eyes and landed in the center of Gon’s chest. He needed a way to broach the King Beetle.

“I sure hope Rig isn’t in a sour mood today. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Hm? But we’re going home.”

Placing his bag on the floor of the passenger’s seat, Gon remembered stripping off his wet clothes just yesterday in the darkness of the stormy day. Yesterday was another world instead of a different day. Almost like it was a dream too. “What, _why_? Don’t you go every Wednesday?”

He took his hand off the gearshift, this sudden bit of embarrassment reminding him to pull his hair out of the ponytail it had been in for work. “Not _every_ Wednesday.”

“Mito said it was every Wednesday. Rig said it was every Wednesday.” Normally he wouldn’t correct an adult so argumentatively, but he really wanted to go to the King Beetle. If he just pushed Kite, he knew something would shake loose from those high privacy walls he surrounded himself with. Not enough to get him to run, mind you—just enough, just enough for Gon to pull him closer.

His hair wasn’t enough cover for the pink on his cheeks, so he fished his cap from the backseat, ironically looking the same as he had when Gon had bumped into him at the King Beetle the very first time. As if Gon had already convinced Kite’s subconscious to go. “We don’t need to go today. You’re here, and all I do is wait around and drink coffee. If we get back now I can make some dinner.” The blue of his cap only highlighted the pink on his cheeks even more, but Gon didn’t have the heart to tell him.

 _Wait around for what_ , Gon wanted to ask. Instead he frowned, mind brewing excuses, reasons, and lies for a way to convince him. His gut instinct was strong this time: he had to get him to the King Beetle no matter what. “Mito wanted to have Rig check on me in person. I told her it would be fine because we were going on Wednesday anyway.”

“Really? She didn’t mention it.”

“Since you go every Wednesday, we thought it was a given.”

Nodding, Kite shifted into drive. As they pulled away, the owner huffed back outside, onto the mat. Sweep, sweep, sweep.

Gon’s guilty heart settled into his stomach. He hadn’t expected Kite to believe him so easily, since he was anything but gullible and trusting. The rest of his excuses and backup lies didn’t go back into his throat easily. Wishing he had chosen a different excuse. _He’d used Mito to trick Kite_. He’d used Mito to trick Kite, who had called him his friend and laced their fingers together despite all of his fears and complexes about getting intimate with people. This was the man he’d lied to.

This felt worse than the little lies about the jacket. Lies really did get bigger and bigger if you let them, just like Abe had told him the first time he’d been caught in a lie as a little boy. He had told Abe that Mito said he could play outside longer. Of course, this lie wasn’t sustainable. As soon as Mito asked Abe why he hadn’t come in yet, he was exposed. When confronted with his lie, he’d cried out of sheer humiliation. He’d hung his head for days, unable to process why he’d lied in the first place. It was something that his brain swallowed and spewed out of his mouth. He didn’t understand it.

He’d tried hard not to lie since then—but just like back then, it seized him when he wanted something badly enough, and it tumbled out anyway. Mito called it _selfishness_ when she grounded him. He called it _need_.

Even if he wanted to take it back, it was too late. Gon was so relieved to be heading towards the King Beetle that he could live with lying. It wouldn’t be the last lie he told to get closer to Kite.


	9. The King Beetle

The King Beetle was the same as it had been a week ago, with the sound of billiard balls smacking into each other and cheap boots sticking to the floors. Heavy, masculine laughter reached their ears as soon as they walked through the door, almost as though they were the targets of the laughter. There were very few women. Smoke clogged the corners and huddled at the low ceilings, turning a stained yellow in the lighting. No one was supposed to be smoking in here, but Rig let them. How Mito had put up with this place for so long without her face bursting into wrinkles was a mystery.

It was a wonder that Kite could hang out in such a rough, unfriendly place every Wednesday. Especially if he had trouble connecting to people.

But maybe these men were just as taken with Kite as Mera was, Kite being the only one not realizing he was likable.

The jukebox in the back blasted some scratchy tune. It was shocking to see such an ancient machine still kicking anywhere but a museum. It hadn’t been around when he was a kid. For them to add in a jukebox, of all things, in the last seven years they must have had an anachronism quota to meet. Old patrons hovered around it like buzzards, guarding their nostalgia with a scowl and a pocketful of quarters.

“I’ll check in with Rig and order your black coffee! You can wait in your seat,” Gon said quickly before running off to the counter, weaving in and out of the more modern, round tables stationed near the entrance to make it look nicer upon walking in. Kite slid to the back towards his regular booth, the décor getting older and more rundown away from the entrance, like walking through a time machine. He didn’t need Kite following him and questioning Rig, who would relish in the chance to make Gon look like a dumbass kid by exposing his lie.

As expected, Rig didn’t look happy to see him. Gon had never seen another kid in here, even though kids were technically allowed before 10pm. Rig had scared them all off. Most definitely. “I’m with Kite,” Gon blurted out, defending himself from the inevitable assumption that he wasn’t here to buy anything.

Rig leaned over the counter, peered past Gon’s head and into Kite’s direction. “Your mommy know you’re dating an older man?” He smiled, which Gon immediately decided he disliked much more than Rig’s scowling. It should have been unsurprising that he was no more mature than to taunt a middle schooler, but for him to say _mommy_ as if he didn’t know Mito wasn’t his mom was an even bigger insult.

“O-one black coffee, please!”

“Oh? Did I really hit a nerve? Well,” He turned and poured the coffee quickly, “I guess someone has to love Twiggy, right?” The mug slid across the counter with a scrape, and Gon thought for a moment it was going to spill. “Just don’t be surprised when the cops show up.”

Taking the coffee with nervous, shaking hands, Gon stared into the liquid blackness as he shuffled his way to the back. His incoherent thoughts were sitting on the surface of the coffee, Rig’s words reverberating in his head like the aforenamed king beetle himself had crawled in his ear and started buzzing around. Rig was an asshole, and that was possibly all it was—but there was also a chance that he had picked up on Gon’s feelings from the second Kite’s name tumbled from his lips. Of course, Killua teased him about it too. But they weren’t serious, were they? He wasn’t that obvious, was he? _Oh god._ He wasn’t wavering in his—calling it what it was, _a crush_ —on Kite, but having others address it made his heart twist up and writhe in a tiny ball. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Kite hadn’t done anything wrong. Would he really call the police if he saw something too amiss or intimate between them?

“Thank you,” Kite said gently, taking the coffee with both hands. Dazed, Gon hadn’t realized he’d made it over to their table. Something about a grown man, _a stranger_ teasing him about his feelings for Kite made them really sink into his skin. He didn’t feel in control or confident anymore, and he was sure his face was burning up. Kite picked up on it immediately, delaying his first sip to stare at Gon’s face. “Are you alright? We can go back to the house if you aren’t feeling well.”

“I-I’m fine.”

“You should have gotten a snack. You must be hungry, I’ll give you a few dollars and you can—”

“No, I’m okay!” He shook his head furiously, the thought of going back up to Rig, or worse, _Kite going up to Rig_ right now made his skin prickle. Hives of embarrassment. He plopped down across from Kite in the booth in finality, tracing the permanent stains on the table with a finger. Sweat bubbling on the back of his neck.

“Did you get to check in with Rig?”

“Yes. He said he’ll, uh, let Mito know I was in.” His lies were becoming less and less convincing, a spool becoming unspun as he lost his cool. He was burning up in Kite’s jacket, so he slipped it off and left it nestled behind him in the booth. It was a bit too late, because the armpits of the jacket were already wet with his sweat. He usually didn’t wear only a tank top, but this was the predicament that his morning self had left him in. _Thanks, Morning Gon, for being so love-drunk that we’re stuck in a ratty old tank top in a public place with Kite._

“Oh, good.” Kite paused heavily, as if he were about to call Gon out on being a liar. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee. The steam rising and splitting at his brow. “If you’d like, we can leave right after I finish this coffee.”

_Get a grip on yourself._ He flooded his mind with this phrase until there were no more thoughts of Rig or Kite or crushes. He tried to inhabit the body of himself sitting in this same seat a week ago—seven years ago—highly fascinated with Kite, nothing more. Not a canine-loyal, lovesick, stumbling fool. Ready to bear teeth at anyone who looked at Kite wrong. “Actually, I was hoping we could play a game of pool.”

“You know how to play?”

“Well—no, but,” Gon smiled sheepishly, wiping sweat from the back of his neck, “I was hoping you would teach me.” Somehow this simple question grounded him. Made him less nervous.

Swiveling his head around, Kite looked as though they were being watched and then back down at the steam rising from his coffee. The coffee that still held Gon’s thoughts on the dark surface. “I’d rather not.”

“You don’t want to play in front of me, right?”

“No, that’s not—where did you get that idea?”

“You’ve never played in front of me. Not even once. You always stopped playing right away if I came in.”

This news caused Kite to raise his eyebrows, wrinkles settling into his forehead. “I didn’t realize.” With a long, determined sip of his coffee, he checked his watch. “Alright, we can play a game as soon as a table comes open.” He shrugged off his jacket as well and rolled up the sleeves on his button down. Pushing on the cat scratch again, for just a split second, as if the slight twinge of pain would calm him in this noisy, hectic space.

He really hadn’t meant to guilt Kite into it, if that’s what he had done. But he wasn’t quite sure he believed that Kite hadn’t realized he was running from Gon all of those times. No one was that dense, no circumstances so coincidental. Even if he had been running from him, he would rather Kite just admit it instead of trying to spare his feelings.

Cheek resting in his hand, he turned to watch the pool tables being used by other groups of men and women.

“How was work?”

That got him a strange look, as if he’d forgotten that Gon knew what he did for a living. “It’s fine. Just tying up some loose ends.”

“Loose ends?”

And it was like he’d been caught in his own lie. He looked like Gon had looked when he’d been caught, minus the tears. Did he plan to quit his job? Was that why he didn’t want to tell Gon where he worked—because he planned to quit soon? “Nothing. I mean, you know, end of the season stuff,” he said before occupying his lips with a long drink of coffee. A dismissive wave with his free hand.

It would absolutely crush Mera if Kite was going to quit unexpectedly. The look in her eyes—she cared for him so much. Admired him. Or maybe she did know about it, all of her talk about becoming top surgeon somewhere else was her way of trying not to spill the beans to Gon. Trying to pad his fall for when Kite dropped it all on him suddenly. Or worse, disappeared without a word. _Why am I not allowed to know?_ His toes curled bitterly under the table so Kite couldn’t see his distress. Couldn’t see how much he wanted to grab Kite and shake him. _Why am I not allowed to know anything?_

As soon as he finished the last drop and placed the cash for it on their table, a pool table opened up. The light suspended above it was more orange than the rest of them, lighting the green felt on fire. A forest fire taking down everything in its path, even the most lush, fleshy plants. The ones that no one thought could catch fire.

He walked Gon through a game, kicked his ass. Kicked his ass again. And again, in absolutely no time at all. All of his shots were muscle movement, arms stretching and back bending with a sweep, almost no time for him to calculate in between. Hair whipping like a slingshot. Velvety swing of his torso, his hips a fulcrum.

Gon wasn’t bad—especially for having just started. Kite remarked, with a small smile, that Gon picked up on the theoretical strategies and rules of the game faster than anyone else he’d explained it to. It was high praise, enhanced by Gon’s own self-admission that he would have done better in his execution of play if he weren’t so preoccupied with watching Kite’s skillful body. “I just can’t keep up. You’re so amazing, Kite.”

Kite flushed, bending down in hopes that the green felt would counter the pink glow on his cheeks. His hair caught fire under the lights. “Don’t feel bad. Most people don’t want to play against me. I’ve been playing since I was about your age—or, well, a teenager.”

Gon could imagine it. The big, burly men moving like sludge where Kite was water in a rushing river. Taking them out, challenger after challenger. Underestimating Kite up until the point where the balls on the table, spinning and hurling like asteroids, decimated their puffed-out chests and lip-curling trash talk.

Strange that Kite hadn’t listed billiards as a hobby. “What other games do you play?” Gon asked, trying to imitate a complex move Kite had done when he’d sank two balls in a single shot. He sank the eight ball instead, ending the game and losing instantly.

Kite set up again, without asking Gon if he was interested in another game. Still moving automatically, like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Used to play. Cards, slots, pachinko, roulette—”

“Um, those all sound like—”

“Gambling, yes. I didn’t have a Mito to kick my ass for throwing my money away.”

Shot after shot: failed. This couldn’t have been much fun for Kite, who was watching him idly try new shots. Barely keeping track of how many were sinking. “At my age?”

“At your age I worked fetching beers for golfers. Laws weren’t as strict back then. I didn’t get a wage—they paid me in tips. It was nice for a while, sleeping on a finely-manicured lawn under the stars on a gated property. Or in a utility shed on the rainy days. They let me have the food they were going to toss anyway.”

A utility shed on rainy days. They let him have the food they were going to toss anyway.

These weren’t the secrets Gon had thought he’d pluck, like flowers, from Kite’s outstretched hand once he got him to the King Beetle. He’d known, somewhere in him, that the young Kite with the long driveway and the big, tonguey dog wasn’t real, but his stomach reeled like stretched-out taffy at the thought of Kite going hungry. Legs lengthened from puberty, legs he hadn’t gotten used to yet, folded in front of his body. As close to the center of himself as he could fold them to stay warm as cold rain hammered on a thin tin roof. Gon’s age. The age where Mito was still trying to baby him while he wormed out from under her loving hands. Kite huddling next to dulled loppers and cold cans of oil. Wadded up, grass-stained gloves sleeping next to his worn shoes. Objects having more rights to the places he squatted.

“They paid me to do stupid dares, taking bets on if I could do them. It started with trying to retrieve balls from the ponds. It quickly escalated to stunts that could have broken my neck or worse.” He took four perfect turns, sinking ball after ball without missing a beat or pausing his story. Gon imagined him plunging into a freezing, filthy pond to the laughter of men in polo shirts. Coming back to the shed, knowing he’d be colder than the night before. A wad of paper bills sleeping in a baggy in his pocket.

“Finally, I got busted pickpocketing and they fired me. Then I started working here at sixteen as a busboy and gambled away every bit of my earnings. I don’t even know what my aim was. I wasn’t trying to strike it rich or buy anything. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop.”

“Here? At the King Beetle?”

“Yes.” He looked up at the counter, considering another coffee or remembering the days when he used to work behind it. “It was before Mito worked here, of course. I scrubbed floors, washed dishes, took out the trash. They paid me under the table and let me sleep in a booth.” He motioned to the booth where he always sat, where he had been sitting when Gon had first met him. Both of their jackets occupying the seats where his head had laid when he was a teenager. It had heat, air, and dry surfaces. A place where bodies regularly filled the spaces. People belonged here instead of tools. “This booth. The owners—kind people, lectured and pressured me about using the money to rent a place somewhere. But they saw how I was. What I did with the money I earned. They felt sorry for me. I used to think I was smart, that I was successfully tricking them, but I realize now that they felt incredibly sorry for me. I was pitiful, the way I waited for payday just to fritter it away the same night I earned it.”

“What made you quit?” Quit the job or quit gambling. Gon let it mean either.

Eyes cast down, Kite picked up a square of chalk and idly rubbed it onto the tip of the cue.  His answer was simple, quiet: “Ging.”

This caused Gon to drop his eyes too, and to lower his cue. Everything always came back to Ging, didn’t it? Even this place.

“He was one of the only men who ever beat me at pool when I was eighteen, nineteen years old. When he started coming in, the other regulars said, ‘ _he blew in from nowhere_.’ He had messy facial hair and a scuffed, brown bomber jacket. I think it was winter when he first started coming around. Nursing a beer and watching everything that went on for hours.” There was something in his voice that pined. Ached in a way that folded and creased Gon’s guts into an origami swan.

Over in their booth, on top of the jacket Gon had discarded, he could see Ging. Elbow on the table, propping up his face with a calloused palm, eyes watching a young Kite’s angular hips jab the air around him as he stalked around a billiards table. The beansprout of a young man parting waves among the crowd with his aura, unique body and face. Catching Ging’s eye. His scuffed jacket and dirty fingernails—wanting to touch, taint Kite’s white hair.

Kite falling for it. Falling for him.

“But he didn’t just defeat me. He watched me gamble and win against other unsuspecting people. I had become predatory at that point, having gotten so good at pool. Pretending I wasn’t until a stranger accepted my challenge. Hustling money out of any pocket I could, no matter how scary the bastard attached to it.” The first point in his life that Kite had been in control. The point where he started emulating the golfers who had dared and challenged him.

“Ging sat back and watched me gamble away my winnings on other games and get the snot beat out of me by the nastier men I’d humiliated. He watched me beg the owner to keep letting me sleep in this back booth, because I was an adult who _still couldn’t afford an apartment_. One day he challenged me and said, ‘if you beat me, I’ll give you twenty-thousand dollars, cash. But if I beat you, you’re going to become a doctor.’”

“Twenty- _thousand_ dollars?” Mito never said anything about Ging being rich. The Zoldycks flashed in his mind. The kind of man who carried himself the way Ging did while throwing that kind of money around struck Gon as deceitful. Maybe he’d won the lottery and frittered it away slowly over the years. Tossing it at any young thing he wanted to show off for. Gon’s voice was harsh when he asked: “How does he have that kind of money?”

A cursory glance at Gon, the floor, the billiard table before he answered: “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. When I would bring it up, he’d say it didn’t matter. That he liked his privacy.”

“Like you do.”

He looked kicked. Gon regretted it.

“The way he dressed, the way he acted—he didn’t look like a man who had that much money. At the time, part of me didn’t believe him. I wanted to see the look on his face when he couldn’t pay up. And my cocky, addict self couldn’t turn down a challenge from a man who carried himself in that sloppy, nonchalant way. But he kicked my ass. True to his word, he made me quit my job and apply at the local university. I was whisked away, moving into a dorm with nothing but a few clothes and supplies he’d bought me. The rest of it on tab with the university.”

And it was funny, now that he thought about it, because Kite also lived well below his means. Hid his profession. Maybe part of him liked to fool people too. He’d been taught little else than to fool people.

Gon couldn’t begin to focus on the colorful balls or felted table anymore. He lay down his cue on the edge of the table, not taking his eyes off Kite, who was looking somewhere in the past. Maybe he too could see the ghost of Ging sitting in that booth. If Ging were really over there, would Kite walk away from Gon? Away from their game, the conversation, their relationship, as he puttered after Ging on feet light enough to walk on water.

“Why?”

“’Why’ has been the question of my life since that day. I always ask, ‘ _why me?_ ’ Why me, when so many other people were both worse and better off than I was. The only good thing I did in those days was scavenge table scraps and fill chili bowls with water for the stray animals out back, but he wanted me to become a doctor? It didn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t. When I asked him why, the only reason he ever gave was ‘ _you’re a great shot, so you’ll have a steady surgeon’s hand_.’ But,” he said, his voice heavy and weighed down. Tired. So very, very tired. A train of thought that had run the gamut in his mind over the years to the point where the thought itself was exhausted. “He could have picked anyone. A lot of young adults who are sharper, more deserving of that kind of opportunity.”

_Because you’re special_ , he wanted to say, _and even a man like Ging can see it_.

“That’s not true! You’re a great vet, you—”

Kite suddenly bent down, aimed his cue, and slammed the white ball, sinking the eight ball with such force that Gon thought it would hop from its felt prison and come crashing down to the dented and faded floor below. The rest of the colorful balls, which Gon hadn’t finished off, were left in limbo. His shadow longer now, cast over the table. If a shadow could split something in half, the table would be sliced cleanly down the middle. His voice a fresh razor. “But that’s not what he asked of me. The deal was that I become a doctor, _a human doctor_ , and help people.”

 “Is that such a big deal?” Gon asked, realizing how crass and insensitive he sounded after it had already come out of his mouth. In a much softer voice, he tried to smooth over his outburst. “I mean, you stopped gambling. And you help animals. That’s just as good as helping people.”

“That’s what I thought, but after all these years I think Ging had a purpose in specifying _doctor_. We had a lot of conversations when he came in here, and I think he realized the only way to help my social issues would be for me to become someone who directly helps people. Instead, I took the road easiest for me, not challenging myself with people at all.”

Ging was the type to walk in and try to fix people, huh. Help them in stupid, half-assed ways that amounted to throwing around his opinion strapped to a wad of cash. Even if he was right— _and that was a big if_ —he had a lot of nerve approaching an impressionable boy with opinions on what direction his life should take.

He swallowed the bitter lump of indignation he was chewing. Kite needed him more than his burning gut needed to stew in resentment of Ging.

“Everyone gets scared. At least you tried,” Gon offered, not feeling at all like he was helping. Kite was fully in a whirlwind of his own making and began to hit one ball after another off the table, rapidly, as though he were remembering a simpler time when hitting balls into holes would solve all of his problems. At least for a while. Until one man flipped his life upside down.

“Not hard enough. I skipped classes, went back to gambling, and barely passed my courses after the first year. I started drinking and staying up all night. Ging had to come and check on me, practically pulling me out of bed and into my classes.”

He’d seen Kite embarrassed before, but this wasn’t embarrassment. His cheeks didn’t tint pink like when he was flustered; a dark aura of shame dripped from his body language as he sank the last colored ball. This shame hadn’t been clinging to him when he admitted his gambling as a busboy—Gon understood perfectly. It was harder to be a bad person while someone was helping you and believing in you. In a lot of ways, it was easier to never accept help, so there was no one to disappoint.

In a small voice, Gon said, “What changed?” Afraid of the answer, despite seeing the successful product of Kite’s past standing before him. He didn’t want past Kite to hurt anymore. He was ready to rush to the happy ending.

The number four ball, jettisoned from Kite’s precise, deadly cue tip, banked and hopped off the top rails and careened over the side of the table, crashing to the hardwood floor with a loud _thud_. Leaving the play field empty. In any other place, such a loud bang would have caused a stir and a swiveling of heads. But in a rough place like this, hardly anyone looked up. Beneath his feet, Gon could feel it rolling across the uneven floors. Kite’s darkened brow was unreadable.

“I’m going to put that scuff on your bill.”

And Rig’s red, flat face was coming up from the table like the corner pocket was an erupting volcano. Four ball in one hand, a glass of brown liquid in the other. Giving a wide, crooked smile in Gon’s direction as he dunked the rogue ball into the nearest pocket. As if he were cleaning up after a child’s mess.

_Not now. Not now, you asshole._

But he came closer, thrusting the glass at Kite as if he were delivering an order. When Kite didn’t immediately take it, eyebrows drawing up in confusion, Rig said, “Scotch. Your favorite flavor: On the House.”

“I don’t—”

It seemed he had no choice in the matter, Rig’s hairy hand connecting with Kite’s bicep, clinking the ice insistently until it was removed from his grip. “Hurry it up. Don’t you know it’s rude to let ice melt in free alcohol?”

“Thank you,” Kite said, downing it in one gulp. The ice crashing against his upper lip and the bottom of his nose.

Rig grabbed the glass back roughly, no hesitation or awkward maneuvering in order to avoid touching Kite’s hand. Irreverent, brash, and rude. “Stop fucking up my floors, Twiggy.”

A smile that reached his eyes. A nod was all he could muster before Rig spun sharply around and barreled off, heavy stomps carrying him around other patrons. Kite let the alcohol settle and burn in his gut, eyes closed. A slight lean to his ramrod posture. Kite had worked here before Mito was around, but Rig had been here longer than Mito.

Gon opened his mouth to ask him if Rig had known him back then, if Rig knew Ging—but was interrupted by a long, nasally exhale from Kite. Steeling himself. Giving in to something.

Finally, he said: “I met a boy in one of my biology classes. He reminded me a lot of Ging, the way he was unafraid to interfere in other people’s business. I’d been late for class so many times the professor threatened to lock me out, but I showed up late again, hungover, and without any of my books. People usually averted their eyes when I came in, afraid to look at the poor, irresponsible sap still entertaining the idea of becoming a doctor. But not this guy. As soon as I sat down in my seat, he stood up, crossed the room, and punched me right in the face.”

Anyone who had the gall to punch someone like Kite in the face was a man of stone. That may have been the source of Kite’s slightly-crooked nose. But then again, if Kite lived a rough life of gambling, any number of the scraps he got into could have equally been the cause. Or maybe there was no cause, and he was born with a slightly-crooked nose to show the world that imperfection is graceful, kind, and earnest.

“He was the youngest medical student in any of my classes—he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. I’ll never forget, his name was Leorio. And boy, did it _hurt_.” But as he said it, he smiled, “Especially with my head pounding from a hangover, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, so I crumpled to the floor like paper.” Kite finally released his death grip on the cue, laying it to rest on the table like putting a body in a casket. “He told me, ‘ _You’re an embarrassment! You don’t want to be a doctor, so what are you doing here?_ ’ I just laid there in silence, not picking myself up. Listening to _another_ person tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. But this time, I fully felt what he was saying from the pit of my chest. It was the truth: I wouldn’t become anything if I kept trying to be what Ging had told me to be.” His eyes were locked onto the floor, as if a phantom Kite were lying on the sticky King Beetle floors, hungover and realizing he’d cornered himself into a life he didn’t want. Temple next to where the four ball had dropped.

He continued. “I didn’t want to be a gambler, I didn’t want to be a doctor, what did I want? My life had absolutely no direction. I had no goals, no desires. All I wanted, at that moment, was for him to punch me again. I dropped out of that class the same day. I haven’t seen him since, but he’s probably the best damn doctor in the world. Now _there’s_ a kid that Ging should have helped. Should have paid for _his_ education.”

“You didn’t even want to be a veterinarian?” Gon moved closer, although Kite’s eyes wouldn’t meet his face. There was something in him that said Kite might fall apart any second; Gon had to be there to catch the pieces. Maybe the scotch was rocking him like a ship on typhoon waves. The reason he was even breaking was because Gon had pushed him to come here. Had pushed and pushed until his privacy walls had come down. And that was the cause of this reinvigorated self-hatred. The reliving of this pain.

“I laid in bed for five days after that, missing all of my classes. For once, without drinking, I thought about my life and tried to see what I wanted to do. I remembered the only good thing I’d done in my life, which was feeding those strays. It clicked when I thought about how I could use the credits for some of the pre-med classes I’d already taken. I still wasn’t sure it was what I wanted to do, but at least it would be my decision. Not at the whim of circumstances or a rich benefactor’s push.”

“What did Ging say?” His name felt different on Gon’s tongue. Not as the father he wanted to know, but as Kite’s mysterious benefactor. Like in his dream, Ging was far away, saying things he didn’t care about. It was becoming more important for Ging to be kind to Kite than it was for Gon to meet him. Mito would probably be relieved to know.

“He stopped coming around. He didn’t come to my graduation, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Gon had only seen graduations on TV. Mito talked about his future graduation all of the time, tears stinging her eyes at the very mention. He never got what the big deal was, but now that he imagined Kite in the ugly cap and gown, he wanted someone to cry blubbering, happy tears for him. It was supposed to come with the territory, wasn’t it? “What? _That’s bullshit_ —why would he treat you like that?” Gon practically yelled, throat constricting without his permission. Kite was _cheated_. _Cheated over and over_. It wasn’t fair.

“You can’t take it personally. I don’t know for sure if that’s why he disappeared. Everyone I’ve talked to who has known him said he just disappears sometimes, without warning or cause. But it’s an awfully big coincidence that I haven’t heard from him since I broke the news to him.”

Did Mito know about this? Did Rig? Anyone who knew Ging and Kite: didn’t anyone try to intervene, to stop this? To locate Ging and make him cough up an explanation. Tell him he can’t just treat people like this, he can’t just disappear on the people who’ve come to rely on him. No matter how much money he has.

“Even if he’s not angry—I still used his money to do something against his wishes. I want to pay him back. I’ve had it sitting in an account for a while now.”

Gon’s eyes widened, watching Kite press his hands together until they white-knuckled. “That’s—that’s why you come here. To wait for him.”

“We had a habit of coming here on Wednesdays for lunch. I always blocked out this timeframe when I made my class schedules. It was a Wednesday, the day he told me to become a doctor. And the day I told him I wasn’t going to become one. Which was about a year before I first met you.”

It was unbearable to see Kite standing there, slouched over in the great weight of this burden he’d carried for so long. Alone. Privately. No wonder his walls had started crumbling so quickly when Gon put the pressure on. The walls didn’t want to stand, only erected because Kite didn’t know how to deal with people. There was no way for Gon to understand the full extent, but it was enough for him to know that he’d brought the walls down. Or if he hadn’t brought them down, he’d made it inside the fortress. He was the only one standing there, the only one to make it through, but it was enough for him.

Kite had been waiting for so long. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the sucker punch named Ging to hit his face, knocking his life out of whack once again with one jingle of the old bell above the King Beetle doors. It was hard to move on when a fist could come for you at any moment, breaking everything apart. Standing in the viscous, absolute darkness of limbo. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Gon wanted to climb onto the pool table, smearing finger and palm prints on the shiny wood, putting his feet on the felt and letting his shoes grind debris deep into the green landscape. Smack the hanging cone light and send it barreling out of control. Bust out the bulb and extinguish its ugly orange fire. _Everyone, look over here. Kite’s in pain. How could you all have ignored it so long? How could you let him hurt like this?_

Like a battering ram, he flung himself into Kite. Bodies crashing together, Kite’s buffering his, arms wrapping around his thin body. An overwhelming smell of sandalwood and sterilization saturating his nose, mouth, and brain. The unmistakable scent of the veterinary clinic on his clothes, but the comforts of his large bathtub on his skin. The man rarely went elsewhere. Imprisoning himself away from people. Waiting.

 Arms a snake, constricted around Kite so tightly his face was smashed into Kite’s chest. It was different than when they’d been in the car. That had been for Gon. This was for Kite. If Gon squeezed hard enough, he could make him forget about Ging. He would be the one who came out of the darkness of Kite’s limbo, only the lights in his sunset eyes visible between them. Make him forget about the King Beetle. The palm of his hand resting on a cold trowel, clothes covered in pond water. Ripping open packages past their expiration dates. Gambling. Drinking. Needing to be anything. The Wednesdays he sat in the booth he used to sleep in, waiting for a man who would never come.

“Kite,” he spoke the name into Kite’s bones, his jaw hard to move, voice a stifled mutter. There was no guarantee Kite even heard him above the low roar of the patrons around them. Others were still playing pool, shouting, laughing. The static on the jukebox.

He expected Kite to freeze up, rigor mortis joints like he’d gotten in the car, or to push Gon away from him slowly. But a cold hand found Gon’s head. Fingertips stirred the short hair on the back of his neck and sent chills through him, colder than Tuesday’s rain. Colder than Kite kept the house at night. And when he pried his face from the darkness of Kite’s clothes, he looked directly up at his hooked nose to see him looking down, eyes unreadable. Unreadable, but calm. Not at all concerned that they were in public, or that Gon had flung himself into Kite’s body without warning.

His heart was banging so hard against his ribs that it could have broken from his skin and escaped into Kite’s chest. The billiard balls, cracking against each other in other games, became his heart’s metronome. Kite’s sturdy body became his pillar, the only thing keeping him upright as he extended a shaking hand, cupping Kite’s angular cheek in his small palm.

Cheekbones high and sharp beneath his smooth skin, Kite’s eyes never left Gon’s. Unafraid as Gon had ever seen him, the sadness and adrenaline from coming clean having steadied him like another glass of scotch. Vindicated and stripped bare, even if only for this moment.

“Kite, let’s go for a jog every Wednesday from now on.” His mouth was unobstructed now, but his voice still seemed to get lost in the short distance between their faces.

No response came. Eyes blinked hard, a wetness rapidly accumulating. The words he wanted to say had melted, leaking from his eyes and dampening his dark eyelashes. But his hand didn’t leave the back of Gon’s head. Security. A serenity Gon had never known before washed over him guiltily in the face of Kite’s pain.

“You don’t need Ging. Neither of us need him. He can stay gone.” Ging had been Kite’s secret because he still meant too much. There were lingering feelings. Gon wanted Kite to stop talking about Ging because he didn’t matter, not because he was too important, too raw to think about.

“Don’t let this affect your view of him.” Kite finally spoke, the movement of his mouth tugging his skin and cheek muscles in interesting ways beneath Gon’s fingers. Tense muscles. Deep voice vibrating in his chest. Eyes still wet, but nothing fell. A grown man, rigid his entire life. More controlled now to make up for the reckless life he’d left. But still lonely.

Gon slid his hand over, cautiously, cautiously, as if Kite were porcelain and the wrong move would break his nose clean off. Like a little boy at a museum, Gon knew the consequences of touching fragile things. But couldn’t resist the rugged bridge of his nose. “I form my own opinions.” Puffing out his chest only pressed him closer to Kite instead of giving an allure of adulthood.

The jukebox kicked on again, louder this time, playing some inappropriately upbeat tune. His fingers’ journey was cut short by a large man cutting in, as if about to ask one of them to dance. “You guys done with the table?”

Gon’s serenity withdrew itself, a turtle’s head under the shadow of a boot, like Kite had only just remembered the loud public place they’d been in the entire time. Going to the same place every week for years must have desensitized him. “Yes. I apologize.”

Turning on heel, he retrieved his jacket from the booth, put it on, and palmed his eyes with the sleeve. Childlike but sturdy.

Still standing in the hallowed patch of floor they’d embraced, Gon said, louder, “I make my own decisions.” Hoping he sounded as immovable as Kite, while also scared of how immovable Kite was. Sometimes being immovable meant being weighed down by something so heavy it was impossible for the legs to pick themselves up. Even strong legs would break down over time. Immovable to the point that, if he wanted to move closer or further away, the weight wouldn’t allow it.

“Let’s go. You’ve got homework to do.”

He didn’t wait for Gon as he fled from the King Beetle. He looked the same as he had every time he’d escaped Gon throughout the last seven years. It made Gon’s stomach drop, as though he would go out through those doors and Gon wouldn’t see him for another seven years. But Kite wouldn’t do that, right? Not after Ging had done that to him. He wouldn’t quit his job suddenly and move to another town, another zip code, another country. But even as he told himself that, his stomach wouldn’t settle, as if he’d swallowed some lurid dream where Kite left him. One of the real dreams, not the fake ones.

Before Gon could follow on heel like the hapless puppy he was, Rig appeared before him, collecting the cash and empty mug from their table. There was no way he hadn’t seen them, in the middle of the floor, holding on for life. Touching each other’s faces. Now he hoped Rig wouldn’t contact Mito and make his lie into truth.

“We won’t be coming back.” Gon said to him, hoping to sound stern and in control of the situation. Challenging him to call Gon a stupid kid, or make fun of his embrace with Kite, or anything that would let Gon bite back. _He was with Kite._ He was with Kite in all senses, and Kite was with him. There were no bratty kids here that could be tattled on to the nearest adult.

Pocketing the change and brushing a hand on his already-stained apron, Rig grunted loudly. He reminded Gon of a bull—an old bull, who had seen his fair share of fights and wanted nothing more to do with them. Although he still liked to act tough, as if it were a hobby. Face still red, a collection of sheen on his sweaty forehead, eyebrows upturned at the sound of the exit bell and the sight of Gon standing there with his arms crossed. “I hope you’re right,” he rumbled, looking up. Horns dulled and old, pointing to the ground. Cockiness having vanished, or maybe it was Gon’s perception that had changed. The man knew more about Kite’s Wednesdays than Gon ever would.

It was unbearable to think about what else his old bull eyes knew, what he had seen when it came to Kite. He snatched Kite’s jacket from the booth, quickstepped around Rig and out the door. Wanting more than anything for his threat to be a promise, a prophecy, and to keep Kite from coming back on Wednesdays ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, I've altered Leorio's age (in relation to Gon) a bit. About three years or so. But I loved the idea so much I couldn't pass it up - Leorio being a high schooler who also takes college courses, the serious student he is. 
> 
> Let me know if there's anything else that you've noticed or that stood out to you! ♥♥ Thank you again to all of my lovely readers~ I appreciate each and every comment, kudo, and bookmark!


	10. Seismic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When pain comes, it comes like rain.

That night, after Kite thought Gon was asleep, he got out of bed.

After a few minutes of laying in the dark, wondering if he should try to sleep instead of snoop, Gon followed. With something in his hands, Kite went out the front door, screen door slamming behind him, the sound clapping the walls of the living room. The blue porch lights flooded the window; Kite on the porch swing with a can of beer. A half-case of beer was on the swing next to him where Gon would have sat. _Should have been sitting._ But even Gon had enough foresight to know when not to interfere. If he’d brought that much beer out with him, he wanted to drink out there alone all night. And as much as it twisted him up inside to let it happen, he couldn’t bring himself to throw open the door and interrupt.

Kite’s blue face, as he desperately tilted the can back, demanded space. And quiet. Gon had already intruded on his quiet life for multiple days, never giving him a moment alone. Even if Gon didn’t think he should be alone right now, knowing that Kite needed alone time was all he could do to help him. Staying away when he needed space was all he could do to show he cared.

But it didn’t stop him from pulling up the desk chair and watching Kite from the window. Lips pursed, throwing back swigs of beer without letting it linger in his mouth. Lighting a cigarette, then another, not even picking his book up off the ledge. Eyes moved rapidly, looking out into the darkness, or back to the past. Fingers denting the flimsy aluminum of the can. Unlike the sleek, frosty beer bottles, he couldn’t clutch the cans gracefully between two fingers. Palm pressed to the cold can, making his shoulders stiff with chill. The sound of the chains squeaking as he rocked was the only thing Gon could hear other than the occasional car that drove by. Beer can orange, cherry tip orange, headlights orange, Kite blue. Kite unlike anyone or anything Gon had ever encountered before. The feelings he had for Kite were unlike anything he’d ever encountered before, and he was drowning in it. The living room was filled with it, leaking rapidly from the futon Kite had first tucked him into.

The glass of the window was cold as Gon pressed his face to it. Without Kite, his fingers were icy at the tips, cheeks drained and numb. Brain preoccupied and stupid. Heart a pathetic mess of billiard balls smacking together aimlessly, Kite’s opponent he was stomping into dust with twenty-thousand dollars on the line.

Except Gon would lose.

He wasn’t Ging. He would lose, give Kite everything, and never leave him. When had Kite become someone he loved this much?

Despite the cold glass on his face, his head got heavier around midnight, his neck unable to hold it up as his eyes closed. Cheek smashed against the window, eyes fluttering shut with Kite’s blue silhouette as his last afterimage.

 

He didn’t tell Killua what he’d found out at the King Beetle. When prompted, because Killua was adamant to know what had come of Gon’s instincts, Gon told him that Kite used to work there. Killua drawled out a disappointed _ohhh?_ and went back to messing around on his phone.

“But he taught me how to play pool!”

“They have a pool table there?” Killua cupped his chin in hand, dangling his phone precariously in his other with two fingers, swinging it around. Smearing fingerprints on the glass. The cellphone equivalent of rocking your chair back on two legs. The universal constants that would make all adults in the vicinity yell at you. “We should play sometime. I’ll kick your ass.”

Where Kite had destroyed him, unchallenged, Killua would be a fun opponent. He leaned across the table, bearing his teeth in a smug smile and plucking Killua’s vulnerable phone from his fingers. “You sure you’re even _allowed_ to go to the King Beetle, Killua?”

This initiated a game of Keep Away that caused them to half-crawl onto the table, Gon’s knee knocking the edge of the table and causing it to groan like a wounded dinosaur, Killua’s shirt riding up and exposing his pale stomach and faux, purple snakeskin belt. Their giggling attracted attention, whistles and hoots coming from their peripherals. Gon relinquished the phone but not before jabbing Killua with a finger on the surface of his exposed tummy. Killua’s face lit up like a firetruck at night, pulled his shirt down so quickly he nearly dropped the phone he’d worked so hard to win back. “I don’t _need_ the King Beetle! We have a table in our game room, remember?” Gon did, now that he thought about it in between labored, laughy breaths. “I’ll take you on anytime!”

They coughed away their laughter and trash talk, ignoring their audience.

It was a much-needed distraction. Things were still normal with Killua, which was a thankful constant for him to latch onto. Kite had carried him to bed again from the window, but he still wasn’t back to his usual self when morning came. Something had transformed him: whether it was his confession at the King Beetle or his subsequent night of drinking, his disposition had shifted. He was distracted, barely speaking to Gon when he woke up. He’d made a small joke, saying, “It’s like I have a dog now who waits up for me.” So, he wasn’t _angry_. It wasn’t exactly sadness either. But even as he dropped Gon off for school that morning, his eyes rarely focused on things right in front of him, preferring to mist over and look ahead.

A strong wind should have come and scattered the mist into the fields of his eyes.

But when Kite picked him up, he was as still as an old nobleman’s portrait Gon had seen in his history book. If Kite were royalty, he’d look regal and handsome in an oil painting. But now wasn’t the time for him to be still and silent as dried paint, immortalized in the driver’s seat of his jeep. Every topic Gon tried to bring up was met with short quips of response, nothing more or less.

“Do you want to go on a jog when we get back?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to order some food? I looked up a vegetarian place that delivers—”

“No.”

 A silence settled heavily over them, Gon’s enthusiasm burst like a water balloon, leaking through the spaces between his fingers. This was how Kite had been toward him at the King Beetle before he’d come to stay. They’d come so far, Gon chipping away at him little by little, until that night on the porch felt like perfection. _All of that work, gone._ It felt like Kite had pulled a string, closing up the little holes of vulnerability Gon had poked. Back to square one.

As they pulled up to the house, Gon was about to explode. Angry and hurt that everything had been undone. Confused as to what happened in less than twenty-four hours.

“Is this about Ging?”

“Is _what_ about Ging?”

“You know what I mean—this, this _zombie Kite_!”

A frown stretched his mouth, Gon wishing he could reach over and touch Kite’s face as he’d done last night. Push the corners of his frown up again. He looked down at his own hands, as if to tell them to behave, and saw his fingernails were dirty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was tense and sharper than it had ever been when talking to Gon.

“You’re not acting normal!”

Flinging the car door open, the beeping on the console warned that there was danger. “You have no idea if I’m acting normal or not. You’ve known me for less than a week.”

It cut. The words cut Gon in a way that he never imagined Kite could cut him. What had changed from this morning when he’d told a joke? Or last night, when he carried him to bed and held him in the middle of a crowded place? Even when he thought Kite didn’t like him, when Kite had been short with him and escaped from his presence as quickly as he could, he never spoke to him like this.

But he wasn’t wrong. And that was the worst part. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about—”

A long leg lifted him from the car, face turned away from Gon. “Don’t be. Mind your business.” He shut the door, hard, rattling the dash and Gon’s nerves.

Shoving a fingernail beneath his other nails, Gon picked them clean.

Not getting out of the car. Not moving with his knees pressed together and toes pointed inward, suddenly feeling like a stranger in Kite’s home. An inconvenience who should keep his hands clasped in front of him and make himself as scarce as possible. Five days. He’d been here for less than five days. It had seemed so much longer, but it was only a delusion. Five days.

Kite let the screen door slam hard as he went into the house, leaving Gon in the car. It was quickly warming up from the late-spring heat.

Finally, Gon had to get out. Sweat beading down his back and fingernails picked clean, he dragged his bookbag and himself slowly up the walkway; not sure if he should go into the house, thinking about what he had done to upset Kite. Maybe it had been the embrace. Even though Kite had seemed fine with it and even reciprocated, he may have been having second thoughts, realizing that Gon was taking advantage of his vulnerability. Not that he had intended to take advantage—his reaction to hug Kite had come from a genuine place. What genuine place it had come from was still a mixed bag, but it definitely hadn’t been to take advantage.

The porch swing squeaked quietly, as if it were also afraid of upsetting Kite further, as Gon sat down. The wind chimes were in full force, the day peaceful and kind other than the strong wind that was Kite’s sudden change in disposition.

Letting a deep breath of spring air fill his lungs, he pulled out his homework and a crushed granola bar from the bottom of his bag. He licked the crumbs from his palm like he was licking his invisible wounds and kept glancing at the window, hoping to see Kite pass by like a ghost in a haunted house.

Hours passed and Gon finally finished his homework, stomach growling loudly with no more snacks left in his bag. His bookbag thumped to the floor as he perched his bare feet on the porch swing, grabbing Kite’s book from the windowsill. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember the words Kite had read to him on Tuesday night. The tone of Kite’s voice had quickly slipped him into a trance that was a one-way ticket to a sleep so deep he didn’t realize he was being carried to bed.

The book was a travel guide to another continent. Gon had learned about it a bit in geography class a few years ago; it was the biggest continent and had the most varied ecosystems; was largely untouched by human hands and had rare animals not found anywhere else. It was popular with tourists and explorers who were interested in wildlife, hiking, camping, and boating across huge, raging rivers. Was Kite thinking of going on vacation, or just interested in the culture and animal facts in the book? He didn’t seem like a thrill seeker.

He imagined Kite in some dense forest, hair shaded by the jade trees overhead, and his body so still that animals approached him like he was a natural landmark. Even wild animals would never hurt Kite, Gon was sure. He’d never seen Kite handle one of his patients, but if he’d cared for stray dogs as a teenager, he had to be good with animals. Gon imagined a timid bunny rabbit, the color of Kite’s hair, crawling onto his lap in the middle of an isolated, lush forest.

The screen door swung open and Kite popped his head out, as if surprised to see Gon still on the porch, even though it had been hours. “It’s time for dinner—” He stopped as his eyes fell on the book in Gon’s hands.

Gon closed it slowly, setting it back on the windowsill and locking his eyes on the half-dozen new cigarette butts that had just been added to the recycling bin the night before. There was little other explanation as to why he didn’t have an ashtray on the porch other than denial about his smoking habit. “No thanks, I’m not hungry,” he lied, hoping his stomach wouldn’t choose now to growl and expose him.

“ _Look._ ” He came all the way out onto the porch, letting the screen door shut behind him. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I’ve been distracted. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, I was just taking it out on you.” His eyes looked more alert than they had before, his movements less sluggish, but he still fidgeted under the weight of some great burden. “Just like last time, huh? With the bear. I hope you’ll forgive me and have dinner.”

Now Gon was really worried. Even through his joke Kite managed to sound like he was giving a eulogy. Something was very wrong. But Gon couldn’t continue to be stubborn when Kite was asking him so kindly—a knife into his Achilles heel being twisted. “S-sure.”

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Even though it had been such a beautiful day, Gon could hear a rumbling in the distance.

 

Dinner wasn’t laid out on the tray in front of the futon. There was no background noise. No TV. The living room was a long-forgotten ruin. Instead, Gon followed him into the kitchen, cold tiles a shock to the bottom of his feet like he was walking on an iron maiden’s chest.

When he hesitated at the entrance, Kite placed a hand on his back gently, comforting him to go into the dark place where some monster was waiting to rip him apart. Kite was just as cold as the tiles; the touch didn’t crawl happily down his spine.

A small table had proper dishware laid out for their meal, the sunlight from a high port window strewn across the glassware. He would have soared high above the clouds at the sight of this intimate, date-like setting only a day ago. Less than twenty-four hours ago. But his ankles were stone.

Kite pulled out the chair for Gon, adding another crank to the churn in his stomach. A sweet gesture mixed in with his biting attitude. Gon wanted to be happy. He wanted this to happen when Kite was better, when his walls were down again.

Kite pushed his chair in after he sat, which made his face heat up despite the suffocating atmosphere. He hadn’t been pushed up to a table since he was a little kid. And Kite didn’t see him as a little kid.

They started to eat after Kite dished the food out onto their plates—spinach and mushroom pierogis, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. Gon avoided the asparagus, barely picking at his food anyway because his brain was burning with worry. Would Kite tell him to leave? Things weren’t working out, he was sick of Gon after all, he was going to go find Ging and stop using Gon as a substitute. Gon wasn’t a good enough substitute.

“Gon.” Gon jumped, his fork screeching against the glassware. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I took it out on you again.” He sighed a sigh so heavy that it could have broken the nice glassware below his chin. He let that linger, eyes searching for something on his plate that could help him explain himself. “This is why I’m not very good with people.”

“I take things out on people too, sometimes, when I get upset. Besides, I kind of look like Ging.” It felt weird to admit. Mito had always shut down acquaintances who didn’t know better than to compare his features to Ging’s. “And what he did wasn’t right, so it’s understandable.” He rambled on, grateful that Kite was talking to him. Eager to absolve Kite of any guilt so they could get back to normal. So Kite would treat him warmly again.

“It’s not about Ging.” He laid his fork down, clasping his long fingers together like the bars of a cage. “I’m leaving on Saturday.”

“What?”

“Mito should be back by then, but if not, you can stay here until she gets back. It’s a prior commitment I made before you came here, I’m sorry. I was asked by a wildlife conservation foundation to come and treat animals injured in the current poaching epidemic. And I agreed.”

The blood-slung savannah on the TV: _Poaching should have stopped yesterday._

“How long will you be gone?”

Gon glanced over at the dead plant above his sink. Having watered it the other day, he imagined that it was starting to perk up. Kite couldn’t leave when it was just starting to perk up. He couldn’t leave everything here, for dust to settle on his counters and his favorite shows on TV to go unwatched. His tub to get water stained around the drain.

“Hard telling. It may be a month or— _much_ longer, depending on their needs. I’ve already taken an indefinite leave from the clinic.”

Indefinite.

“Mera didn’t s-say anything about it.”

“I asked the director not to tell anyone. I knew she— _they_ would make a big deal about it.”

“That’s heartless,” Gon said, a vicious slip of the tongue. His mouth fell open, as if shocked at his own words.

But Kite smiled. A long smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I know it is. They’ve been such good co-workers. They really care about me. But I never did learn to be good to the people around me.”

“ _You’re good to me!_ ” Came out, a shout practically loud enough to reverberate off the pitcher of iced tea in the center of the table. As if the speed and volume of his protest would keep Kite here.

“No, I’m not.” It wasn’t humble. It wasn’t self-depreciation. It was pure honesty. “I’ve dodged you your whole life, partially because of Ging. He abandoned you, so part of me thought you would only bring further abandonment on me, like a curse. Or a disease. I also didn’t want some kid bothering me. I’m sorry. I’ve been incredibly ugly to you, even though you’ve tried everything to be close to me. I’ve lashed out at you, projected onto you, and neglected you. I don’t know how to just _be_ with people. I don’t know how to not be inappropriate.”

Once, Gon had tried out the debate club at school. They all had to argue their points calmly, no matter how heated it got. Gon didn’t do well. He tripped over his words. “You won’t believe me, but I don’t think it’s true. It’s not true. You haven’t been inappropriate. You haven’t hurt me at all. I’m fine, and I—” He stabbed his asparagus gracelessly, not planning to eat it. Just punish it for hurting Kite. “I wish you weren’t leaving. I feel like we were just starting to get really close. Until…today.”

There was a clock on the wall that slammed its ticks into the air with each beat of the minute hand. It wasn’t fair. He’d put everything into this delicate balancing act with Kite—like building a tower of cards for days, weeks, only to have them come crashing down due to something entirely beyond his control. Except he loved this tower. It wasn’t fair.

“Gon, I have to be honest with you. I shouldn’t have let you get attached to me. I knew when you came that I was leaving on this trip. And—that this is a trip I might not make it back from.”

Gon’s eyes went to the dead plant again, something in Kite’s tone made it unbearable to look at him while he was speaking. _Recovering_ plant, he corrected himself. “What do you mean?”

“It won’t just be doing surgeries on household pets. The animals are dangerous, the environment unforgiving, and I won’t be staying in a hotel. The poachers are violent and have been known to kill anyone who tries to stand between them and their prizes.”

Stupidly, brain full of sludge, all Gon could think was: _it really is just like the documentary._

With a clumsy clearing of his throat, Kite added, “They have—they have weapons. I’ve already signed the informed consent.”

He might not make it back from. He might not make it.

A flash of white hair behind Gon’s eyes, he could see Kite falling to the grassy floor of some forest or jungle, maimed and splattered to pieces. A force spewed his blood into the high tree tops, rendering him unrecognizable, skin paler and paler as the blood raced out of him. A choke or a sob rumbling from his throat, no one around to hear or hold him. His final moments unwitnessed and as lonely as he’d always feared. Scavengers picking his bones clean days later instead of soft rabbits on his lap.

Suddenly too queasy to eat, he dropped his fork with a clatter. The asparagus was the jade trees that watched Kite die. The iced tea a muddy river where he drowned and struggled in some crocodile’s jaws. The clock’s hands beat a sad song into the air like a jukebox.

“Please don’t go. Just tell them you can’t make it.”

“I promised them months ago. They have a hard time finding volunteers, they have no replacement if I drop out.” It seemed Kite could barely eat as well, imagining the ways in which he could arrive at an untimely death in a strange land. “Besides, this is the only thing that will get me away from the ghost of Ging’s absence. I can’t keep living a life of waiting, can I?”

 In all of the years Gon had spent thinking of Ging, secretly wishing to meet him and scribbling stories in his notebook—ones where he met his estranged father in some grand adventure—he had never imagined that there was someone out there more consumed with the man than he was. At least in Gon’s small world, no one else even _liked_ Ging who knew him. So for a man to sit here before him, completely consumed with Ging’s absence for years on end, forced him to see what his future could have been. There was a real possibility, if he didn’t get ahold of his curiosity and longing for a mysterious figure he’d built up in his head, that he could become _the man who waited_. The man who spends his life consumed with someone else’s absence.

Instead of spitting this sophisticated line of thinking, Gon said, in a small voice, “We could have gone on jogs every Wednesday together.” But even as he said it, he knew how naïve it sounded. Trying to replace such a strong complex with a routine jog with a boy he barely knew would never be the equivalent of Kite forcibly lifting himself from this stale world he’d put himself in, volunteering for life-threatening, but vital, work saving animals. This way, while extreme, was sure to force Kite to change. Sure to make him appreciate his life, take control of it, and stop looking for shadows that may never return.

“I know we could have. And we still can, if or when I get back.”

He wanted Kite to stop being so honest for a second. To only say _when_. Never _if_. He wanted—

“I wanted to be that thing for you.”

“What?”

Gon knew he was incoherent now, there was no way Kite could know what he meant. The tears started pouring from his eyes suddenly, like a raincloud being gutted above an overflowing river. Once it started, he couldn’t take hold of himself. Not even to slow it down. His lungs were on fire; up from his throat came a strangled sob that hurt to release. There was a dark redness pressing to his eyes as he put his face to his hands, snot on his wrist and sweat in his palms.

He couldn’t remember when he’d cried so hard. He hadn’t even cried when those bullies jumped him—he pleaded to no one and everyone that whatever ineffable thing had made him strong enough for those bullies to fear him would keep Kite from leaving. Whatever he had back then, he had to still have it. Although with the way his heart felt shriveled up in his chest, maybe he was no longer the little boy who would take a beating with a smile. Replaced with a white-hot shock. Replaced with pure, dumb-animal pain racking through his body.

When Gon’s eyes opened and his wet hands pried away from his face, Kite was kneeling in front of him on the hard tile, practically pulling him off the chair and into an embrace. The hug was tight. Different than the one at the King Beetle. “I’m sorry, Gon,” he said quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

 _I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be mine_ , Gon wanted to say, but something inside his chest was knocking around, making him shudder and sob, self-control decimated. Ability to speak decimated.

Kite’s arms drove that _something_ to mania, his heart ached worse and twisted up inside of him. It felt like someone he’d loved all his life was dying, rather than a man who he’d known less than a week was going away on a trip.

All because he couldn’t reconcile his problems with just Gon’s help.

 _Gon wasn’t enough_.

There was an earthquake in his body, making all of his vulnerable spaces erupt, scalding him with new emotions he’d never felt before. New emotions that rose up and died. New emotions that rose up and gave him third degree burns.

“Why don’t we go into the living room and watch TV?”

Gon shook his head, the well behind his eyes not yet dry, tears soaking into Kite’s shoulder.

“We could sit on the porch? Go jogging?”

A shake. Sniffle. A frantic fistful of Kite’s shirt in his sweaty hand.

“Please, Gon, don’t do this.” Retracting his hard, resolute honesty of a few moments ago, he said, “I’m not going to die. I’ll come back. I was preparing you for the worst-case scenario, but that doesn’t mean it will happen.” The low rumble of his voice was soothing, reasonable; but it couldn’t dam up the flood waters racing and swirling in Gon’s body. Couldn’t soothe the burn or stop the quaking. “I’ll come back, and you can stay over again. We’ll go jogging every Wednesday.”

Low hiccups had formed in protest of the violent crying. Wrapping his arms around Kite’s neck, he clasped his hands firmly behind the waterfall of white hair. Strands and tangles stuck fast between his fingers, drawn to his sticky hands. “I just want to go to bed.” His voice a weak croak.

Taking the hint, Kite tucked his hands behind the small of Gon’s back and lifted the fourteen-year-old into his arms. It was the first time Gon had been awake in his arms and hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

When he closed his eyes, there was the sight of Kite’s body again. Forest floor. Strands of broken hair.

“When I was about your age, someone told me: ‘There’s a devastating time in every boy’s life when he realizes the world exists.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for chapter 10-11:  
> Lover Please Stay by Nothing But Thieves   
> https://youtu.be/v78PSm1R7bg


	11. Perihelion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perihelion:  
> /ˌperəˈhēlēən/  
> the point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid, or comet at which it is closest to the sun.

There was a void in Gon that Kite had carved out in just five days with nothing but his fingernails. The least he could do was to carry him to bed, even though he was still softly crying into the curtain of Kite’s hair between hiccups. They left the light off, Kite laying him down gently on the bed as he’d done twice already. He didn’t look that strong, but he was long past the point of being much more than he looked in many more ways than physical.

“You’re still in your street clothes, do you want me to get your pajamas?” Treating him so frailly, as if this devastation was terminal, Kite had never dealt with someone crying over him like this. He’d never had to comfort someone who had forced their world into the palm of his hand. No one had cared for him so much, and he wasn’t accustomed to hurting someone with his own actions. Gon knew it without knowing it.

Without responding, Gon pulled off his shorts and dropped them to the floor. Then, doing the same with his t-shirt; underwear and arms gingerly crossed in front of him as his only cover. It was as bare and stripped away as he felt—thin and flimsy, a thread having been frayed until it was ready to snap. In the light of the evening sun that penetrated the curtains, he watched Kite wordlessly change into pajamas, filaments of dust rising and falling around him in his small spotlight.

Even though he’d been staying here with Kite for five days, it was only now he felt they were truly alone. Just the two of them in this room, both awake and with no obligations until morning. Their own end of the world, where no one had to go to dangerous continents or worry about other people because there were no other people. Just Kite and Gon and the plastic bear watching from the bookshelf. They didn’t need anything else.

Gon’s face hadn’t yet dried, but his hiccups subsided as he watched Kite step out of his pants. The light from the window was brighter than Kite must have realized, because Gon could see every curve of his body from his slim legs to the shapes hidden in his underwear. No strength left to pick up his head, he wanted to move across the room and grab at the exposed skin before Kite was able to cover himself back up. But Gon lay there with wet cheeks, watching, the sight of Kite stirring in the hollow caverns of his heart like a prisoner rattling his metal bars. Then his penis took notice of the rattling echoes, growing stiff and uncomfortable as he flipped over onto his side.

Kite laid next to him, hair spilling out over his pillow. Body casting a shadow over Gon enough to hide what he was concealing in too-tight underwear. In two days, this man wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be able to lay in this bed or put his key into the front door anymore. Gon couldn’t try to catch him down at the King Beetle on Wednesdays. This time next week, Kite could be a pile of shredded meat. A lifeless body with a bullet hole. A pincushion filled with poisonous venom.

Lighting struck in the pit of his empty body.

He sat up, crawled to Kite’s still-breathing body, and draped himself over his chest as he had been when he’d woken up on Tuesday morning. White strands of hair still smelled like cigarette smoke from the night before.

Kite didn’t stop him.

“Please don’t go.”

“I have to. But when I come back—”

“Please don’t go,” Gon said again, this time with his nose smashed into Kite’s chest. Kite fell silent at that, and a rolling thunder travelled across Gon’s hollow body, shaking his bones. The rattle came again, his erection now pressing insistently into Kite’s side. A few strands of white hair were beneath Gon’s hand on Kite’s shoulder, and he wanted to wrap it around his own neck like a garrote. If his living self couldn’t keep him here, maybe his lifeless body could—but that was just the hollow place inside of him being morbid. Blood rushing down below his waist.

Fingertips stumbled down the length of Kite’s side, an obvious journey with a single destination. Kite didn’t stop him. He didn’t move. Not even when Gon reached his pelvis, the slick nylon shorts doing little to hide that Kite was in a similar situation. This information short-circuited his brain, even if he were to think on it for another five days he would be unable to process why or how it happened, but it didn’t matter as adrenaline kickstarted his body to take over. He gripped through the nylon, clumsily feeling the solid mass and shape of the head. Warm. Hot. Kite’s body always a heater, but even more so now.

“ _You—_ ”

The sun set behind Kite’s thighs, the canyon where Gon’s hand grazed bathed in a dull orange light that rippled across raised fabric. Shadow of his moving hand cast onto Kite’s stomach. A puppet-show where there were dark, violent things being mimed. Only Gon’s hand, brave enough to break the laws of humanity, could right these wrongs.

When his hand slipped and slid, unable to get a good friction or grip, he snaked it beneath the waistband like a living animal with its own needs for warmth. The skin to skin contact was electrifying, Kite’s voice so far away when he protested with: “ _Gon_.”

It was impossible to stop now; no matter how many times Kite said his name, it would get lost. The blood rushing through Gon’s ears was louder, the only things penetrating through were incoherent, mindless little thoughts that escaped from his shattered inhibitions. Kite’s erection was burning, slightly wet from sweat that was now a mixture of his and Gon’s.

He thought hazily: he was glad he’d cleaned out his fingernails.

“Don’t leave me,” Gon gasped, head laying on Kite’s chest. Watching his hand writhe in Kite’s shorts. The sight alone raced to his own erection, his hips moving on their own to press harder into Kite’s side. “ _Kite—_ ”

It was then that Kite came to his senses, sitting up and forcing Gon’s hand out of his shorts. “You’re making a mistake.” It was quiet, weak. Fruitless when Gon’s hand had just been wrapped around his hypocrisy.

But he couldn’t squirm away so easily, Gon sticking to him like their skin had been seared together, tossing his leg over Kite’s lap and grabbing onto the neck of his spotless white t-shirt. Kite was bigger than him, stronger—this was his house, his room, his bed—he could push him off, kick him out, or scold him. Send him back to the coldness of the futon until he could escape on Saturday. But he sat terribly still, as if Gon were a bomb that would explode at one faulty word or movement.

Maybe Kite was right. Maybe he would. Tears were already stinging at his eyes, unknowing what or who was summoning them.

The sound of the shirt’s neckline stretching, threads breaking permanently as Gon smashed his lips clumsily onto Kite’s. He forgot to breathe, having never kissed before, needing to stretch every inch of his body to reach Kite’s mouth. Air supply thin, head swimming, he opened his mouth to deepen the shallow, awkward kiss and drooled down Kite’s chin.

When everything but Gon’s raucous heart and wet mouth melted away, Kite finally reciprocated. Taking the back of Gon’s head in his palm as he’d done in the King Beetle, he guided him to open his mouth and slowly stumble through a deep kiss.

When they pulled away, a trail of saliva snapped between them and dripped down onto one of their bodies. Gon’s erection on Kite’s stomach, desperately. Hips leading the search for friction. The only thing that could stop the void inside him from swallowing him up was Kite’s body. Kite’s intact, hot-blooded body. The erection jabbing his butt being stimulated by Gon’s animalistic rutting.

But Kite was a statue, nothing moving above his waist except his eyes watching Gon. And the rapid thoughts no doubt strangling his cognitive abilities.

Kite hadn’t doused the situation with cold water because he was thinking of his trip. Maybe part of him was afraid of not coming back, of not getting to do this with anyone again, if he even had done it with anyone before in the first place. It made Gon want this even more. For Kite’s sake, he wouldn’t let him back down from this. Wouldn’t let him abstain from the vice his body was reaching for.

Kite’s hand was cold when he placed it firmly on his smaller bulge of hardened flesh, rocking into it. Even if he couldn’t seduce him with this body, he could make up for it in enthusiasm. He could always compensate with enthusiasm.

It seemed to work, Kite’s hand moving achingly slowly over him—it was enough to nearly incapacitate him with pleasure. He’d never been touched before, other than by himself on rare occasions. And here he was, in the dim orange light of another day setting, trying to spark something to life between two bodies afraid to lose each other.

Gon’s strokes inelegant, he reached behind himself and tried to continue touching Kite. Barely moving his hand, the angle awkward, and the pleasure erupting between his own legs dashing his motor skills. His moans had already flooded the room before he realized he was even making noise, all gasps and pulsating, it wasn’t but a few moments before he released in his underwear. Limbs left twitching, crotch wet and hypersensitive, he shakily stood and slid his underwear down his sweaty legs.

“We should sleep now—”

Kite started but stopped as soon as his eyes landed on the expanse of soft, unmuscled flesh. Delicate. Exposed. Reaching out. The physical embodiment of his sobbing.

But that only made Gon latch back onto Kite’s shorts faster, tugging them down, unable to get them all the way off. The sensitivity in his own penis still radiated, but he wanted Kite much more than he wanted to enjoy the swirling pleasure of reaching orgasm. His eyes told Kite as much with a single, piercing look.

Communicating everything in a glance.

Which he was thankful for, because there was a possibility that trying to talk to Kite right now would lead to more tears. He was still raw, frustrated, and desperately seeking to confine Kite to this room forever. The pleasure was a stabbing reminder of what all he was losing. If his brain reached the point of speaking coherently, those thoughts would inundate back to him, snapping his composure entirely.

Gon’s eyes said, _do you understand?_

Kite understood. Afraid of the minefield that was Gon, he wriggled his hips out of the shorts, the sharp angles of his hipbones strikingly visible even in the semi-darkness.

He was hypnotized, mouth magnetized to them first despite the excitement of finally seeing Kite’s erection. This close to Kite’s skin he could smell the sandalwood bath aroma even stronger. It really was his favorite smell, wasn’t it? But now it would smell like Gon’s saliva, he thought as his teeth sharply grazed the jutting bones. From his peripheral vision he could see the sizable erection (or at least what he assumed to be sizeable—he’d never seen a grown man naked before) twitch in response. He sank his teeth in further. A small, sharp inhale from the body below him was his reward.

When he was good and satisfied, he withdrew to see darkened red spots forming. Blotches that would stay on his body long enough to see him to the new continent. A piece of Gon that would cling to him and see him to his destination safely. His classmates, who had also taken the budding journey into sexuality with each other, talked about hickeys, but their first experiences with them hadn’t been like this. They didn’t desperately need to leave them, their bodies feeling muted and calm only when drinking in the sight of the marked skin.  

With that swell of comfort in his chest, he landed on the revealed erection he’d been imagining for days. At what point he’d gone from curiously imagining to actively craving was something too subtle for even him to figure out, but the full power of the craving was now on the surface. Inexperienced lips moved around the head shyly. Kite jolted underneath him, somehow not having expected this to be the next logical step. Did he really not see him as an adult? He’d absolutely see him as an adult after this.

That being said, he’d never done this before. Clearly. But he could tell the weak suction he managed to create was sloppy and inadequate. All he had was enthusiasm. Using his tongue. Drool spilling over onto Kite’s balls, unable to refine or control anything about his technique. Awkward, wet noises from it popping in and out of the weak vacuum in his mouth. Trying not to scrape anything with his teeth. Inviting Kite into his mouth as far as his throat would allow and then quickly having to rescind the offer when he started to feel gaggy.

But something was doing it for Kite, because there were moans coming from behind a slender, delicate hand. He was just beginning to wonder if Kite would want to put it in his butt—something he knew absolutely nothing about but could surely do better than he was doing this—when Kite’s hand pressed the back of his head. Insistently. Legs shifting in anticipation of something. And suddenly the hand shoved roughly, impaling Gon’s throat in time for the spurt of cum to fill his senses.

Kite called his name gently, muffled behind a hand.

He could smell it—taste it—something he’d never tasted before overwhelmed him. Gon lifted his head up and started coughing. The cum coating his mouth, unable to swallow while coughing. Tears stinging at his eyes—the eyes that looked at Kite’s red face. Gon gave him a stupid, goofy smile while he coughed. Swallowed. “So that’s what it tastes like, huh?”

This was something that nothing could take away or destroy. Kite couldn’t rescind this, even if he isolated himself, never spoke to Gon again, or died in some wild continent. He’d made Kite come with his own mouth. With all of the man’s self-proclaimed social issues, Gon assumed he was one of the few who had ever gotten this honor. Maybe even Ging had never done this with him. Gon hoped not—but even if he had, it didn’t erase his own experience with Kite. These marks wouldn’t go away, even long after the marks on Kite’s hips had faded.

Gon was hard again. The resilience of his youthful body bouncing back as many times as it could to experience pleasure once more. Rapture, once more. As many times as he could get it before oblivion finally came for them.

Kite’s eyes raked over the resurrected arousal, eyebrows upturning for a moment in surprise before realization immediately took its place. Gently pushed Gon down onto his back. Splayed. Kneeling in front of him, he took Gon into his mouth as if to repay him the favor twice over. Long hair like cigarette smoke wafting and tickling Gon’s naked legs.

But Gon knew he wouldn’t last long if he remained enveloped in the wet heat for even a moment longer.

“Wait—don’t you want to—” he moaned, out of breath from the intense sensation of his first blowjob. Kite stopped, knowing there was no way he could finish his sentence if he kept going. “Don’t you want to put it in?” His face was burning, a small fear creeping up the back of his neck even as he said it. It was a bit scary! He didn’t know how badly it would hurt, if he could mess it all up by moving wrong, if Kite even knew how to do it—but he wanted it. He wanted everything with Kite.

Long bare legs slid off the bed, turned to his nightstand drawer, and fished something out. Gon could see his bare ass—kinda flat but endearing. It certainly did nothing to diminish his erection. A small, plastic bottle of what Gon assumed to be lube. He nervously raised his legs in response, revealing the curve of his butt.

Kite loomed over him instead, not making a move for him at all. His hair hung like the great leaves of a weeping willow, casting shadows on his vulnerable, naked body that made him feel safe. Physically shielding him from something deadly that would rain down from the sky. His umbrella for the apocalypse.

With a liberal amount of lube, Kite reached back and prepped himself. Gon’s dry mouth could only slack jaw open. He thought about correcting Kite—letting him know that’s not what he’d been implying—but he already knew that. Kite did everything purposefully. Was this really what Kite wanted, or was Gon being spared some horrible experience? Either way, it didn’t stop his dick from reacting in excitement to the idea of entering Kite.

Kite gave him a look that asked, _is this okay_? To which Gon’s entire face heated up, nodding rapidly like he was a shy, backwards little boy. That was enough for Kite, who held Gon’s dick still and aimed it slowly into him as he sat. It was incredible. The heat, wet lube, faint pulse—but mostly Kite’s gaze steady, warm on him. The idea that _he was entering Kite_. It was enough to force him to steady himself lest he come immediately.

When Kite moved gradually, Gon didn’t know what to do with his hands except to put them on Kite’s legs, which were so long they looked uncomfortably bunched up around his body. The hair on his legs was surprisingly rough and plentiful despite the rest of him being soft and mildly effeminate. Gon let his eyes travel down from Kite’s face, scrunched up in pleasure or pain, to his half-hard erection, which moved with every time he lifted and lowered himself. It was mesmerizing, watching him impale himself with purpose over and over again, eyes shutting and fluttering back open to check that Gon was still okay with what he was happening.

And it was that moment Gon could feel Kite loved him.

Maybe not as a lover or a boyfriend—but he loved him somehow. He could feel it in the way he clenched around Gon’s erection as he went down, wanting to make it good for him even though this was Kite’s farewell party. He should be the one entering Gon and having his fun—wildly abandoning the comfort of the ones he was leaving behind. A sadness seized Gon’s chest, feeling that hollow feeling again in conjunction with his stoked erection. “Kite?”

Kite moaned at his name, stopping his movements with a great resistance. As if he didn’t want to stop, but scared Gon wanted him to stop. “Yes?”

“Can we kiss again?”

In a split-second Kite’s mouth was on his, fulfilling his request, pushing his tongue as deeply as Gon’s dick was. He managed to still move his hips a bit, long torso giving him a reach Gon would never experience when fooling around with others his own age. Every time they broke their lips apart, even for a moment, Gon would say his name.

_Kite. Kite. Kite—_

So these walls and this bed would remember that name even when he was away. So Kite would know how his own name felt against his lips. Maybe this spell would bring him home unharmed, with arms open for Gon to come back into.

Kite broke the kiss, shoving his hips back hard and out from his lips tumbled Gon’s name.

He came hard, unloading into Kite as he thrusted his hips up to meet him. A strangled cry of pleasure reverberating off the now-dark room. When had it gotten so late? He could still see Kite, his white hair swaying as their bodies became disconnected. A beacon.

Gon’s hands were still perched on his sweaty legs. All he could think about was the cum he’d lodged into Kite’s body. And as he came down from his high, so too did his energy come down. He was sober and tired, everything he’d cried over came rushing back to his blitzed brain. Too tired to start crying again, thankfully. The last thing he needed was to cry after sex.

Kite kissed him on his hair-plastered forehead with a sweetness that included a whiff of regret for shoving his tongue into Gon’s mouth like he was a grown man. As if he could ever backtrack now. Gon had made sure he couldn’t. He couldn’t hide away the feelings Gon had seen on his face. The feelings he knew where there.

But the way his eyebrows were drawn together, his posture slumped in guilt, naked, he was beating himself up for what he’d allowed to happen. Hair looking uneven, frayed, turned over and under itself in loops and knots. Placing his face in his hands, he muttered, “What did we just do?” Bending at the stomach as if he might throw up.

Gon wedged his fingers between Kite’s sweaty hands and his burning face, prying his shame away. Tracing high cheekbones, wishing he could bite those too. Something was stuck in the back of his mind, the only thing he could think of that would relieve Kite of his culpability as the adult in the situation.

“Kite.” His voice was weak from crying and moaning. Hands sticky, plastering to Kite’s face. He could smell their musk and sweat overpowering the musk and dust belonging to his bedroom, to the old clothes stuffed in the corners of his open closet. “Sometimes things just happen and it’s no one’s fault.”

Kite laid down in a heap of shaky limbs, leaving Gon’s fingers to hover in the empty space where his face had been. He didn’t respond, sheets beneath his body rippling outward. Little stones dropped into water in all of the places their hands and feet and knees had tugged.

Gon’s quip didn’t help. Turning his words back around on him was much less kind than it was clever, even though Gon had only been trying to help. It sounded smart when Kite said it. It was soothing when Kite said it.

This man was bigger than him, stronger than him, smarter than him. Legs and arms and torso stretched to the length of an adult man. But they were made of bird bones, mouse bones. Optimized for running, perching, weightlessness. Squeezing into tight spaces and escaping. Not made for this kind of weight, not made for fighting. An X-ray would show fractures, osteoporosis. Thinness. Easy for even a kid to crush if he held on too tightly. Adult body crumpled on the waves of sheets. Drowning.

He took Kite’s hand to keep him from bolting in the middle of the night. Vice grip becoming loosened, cupped, Gon’s eyelids fell shut with a heavy curtain call. “ _Please, don’t go,_ ” he slurred, mumbled so quietly Kite couldn’t hear him. But these walls, _this bed_ would remember. Nauseous and failing to resist sleep, he wished he’d merely dreamt up the existence of that continent. Just another farfetched story his brain had concocted.


	12. Particles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He became aware that he wasn’t particles, but a full body that had done something to someone."

Waking up was like being plunged into cold water. Gon scrambled to the edge of the bed to fish the ringing cellphone out of his shorts pocket on the floor. Still completely naked, butt chilled in the cold air of the early morning, he saw Mito’s number light up the screen. Kite was asleep, still naked from the waist down with his long legs folded. It was much earlier than Gon usually woke up for school.

“Hello?”

“Gon? Did I wake you, sweetie?”

“Yes—but it’s okay. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait another minute to tell you. I got the job!”

“That’s wonderful! I knew you’d get it. I knew it. They’d be idiots to pass you up.” With all his preoccupation with Kite, he’d barely thought of Mito or her job interviews. He’d been utterly selfish.

She’d been practicing interview questions for weeks in preparation, talking about how much easier things would be for them financially if she landed it. It couldn’t have been easy for her to carry the financial burden of herself, a teenager, and an elderly woman on server’s wages. How she had managed to do it all these years was a great mystery only to be unlocked by a woman with the strength and resilience of Mito. His heart was elated for her.

“Is Kite around?”

“He’s still asleep.” Looking over at Kite’s nude figure, he was like a painting again. A nude, dignified, sleeping man in oil paint. Meant to show tranquility, or maybe torment with his pale skin against the grey sheets. It rapidly lost dignity as a painting when Gon noticed his small, cum-stained underwear next to Kite’s bent knee.

“Well when he wakes up I’d like for you to have him call me. I hate to impose so much, but I’d like to ask for you to stay a little while longer. Grammy and I really should stay and start house hunting.”

“House hunting?”

“They offered for me to start next Monday, if I’m able. If I can manage it, I would love to get this move done quickly. Your school year is almost over, so the timing couldn’t be better.”

“What?”

He hadn’t thought this far.

The sinking feeling he’d had last night returned vengefully. It was making camp in the pit of his body to stay for the rest of his life. He hadn’t considered for a moment that Mito getting the job meant moving. Or changing schools. Or leaving the only town he’d known his entire life to go someplace new. Leaving Killua. Leaving Kite. It was all crashing down around him—even if Kite did come back, they’d be estranged and stay estranged.

Was this week truly the only week they would ever spend together?

“I’ll call your school and take care of everything. Oh dear, everything is moving so fast. But it’s exciting, isn’t it?”

The joy in her voice lifted his heart even though he felt hollow. He hadn’t heard her this happy in possibly ever. A huge step up for her as a breadwinner, a massive boost in confidence, and the elimination of so much stress and hardship in her life. He couldn’t squash it. “Y-yeah.”

“We’ll have a beautiful house, Gon. You will finally have a place you can bring your friends without being embarrassed! And I won’t be on my feet all day, so I’ll have the energy to drive you places. You can even join a sport! Listen to me, rambling so early in the morning. I’m sure you’ve got to start getting ready for school soon.”

“Congratulations, Mito.”

“Thank you, sweetie. You be sure to have Kite call me. If there’s an issue at all, Grammy and I can come back, and I’ll wait until your school year ends before starting this job. I’ve already spoken to them about it being a possibility.”

“Actually, Kite already mentioned that if you got the job I could stay as long as needed. I’ll reconfirm it with him, but—”

“Oh, that’s _wonderful_! You must have really been on your best behavior. The perfect little house guest.”

“Yeah. He even said I could stay until school ends.”

“That’s incredibly kind of him. You be sure to thank him properly, all right? Tell him how much it means to us. And don’t be a teenage boy about it.”

“I will—err, I won’t.”

She laughed. “If you need anything while you’re staying, let me know and I’ll wire you some money. Do not let Kite pay for your expenses. He’s already done enough for us.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’ve got to go. Double-check with him and send me a text so I can let my new employer know when I’m starting. Love and miss you, Gon.”

“Love and miss you too.”

“This move will be an adjustment for everyone. But as a family we can make it work. I’ll talk to you later. Oh! And I’ll send you some photos of the houses we tour. Even if you aren’t here, I want you to have a say in the new house too.”

She hung up. The silence in the room was no longer a comfort, Mito’s happy voice still resounding in his ears. Kite didn’t wake up from their conversation, his chest rising and falling deeply. Dreaming about what they’d done. About what was to come next for him. When it rained, sometimes the rain turned poisonous in the middle of the shower.

The only comfort he had was what they’d done last night. On a scale of regretting sleeping with this older man he’d known for only a week, it was in the negatives. It would be one of the last things Gon would do in this town, after all. A grand sendoff. The thought made him want to wake Kite by wrapping his mouth around his exposed, flaccid penis. Surrounding them both in sweet mindlessness until someone pulled their bodies apart forcefully.

Instead, he leaned over and kissed Kite’s sleeping lips. Gently. Calmly. Trying to get his secret goodbye before Kite’s anxiety or nonchalance ruined it on Saturday.

Kite stretched his arms up, eyes fluttering open at the sudden contact. “Gon?”

Gon didn’t say anything. He just wanted to drink in the sight of Kite’s face. Hooked nose, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, and eyes deep enough to strike oil through thousands of miles of stone. The way his neck and forehead were a bit long, his Adam’s apple stuck out too far, and he had a zit forming on his temple.

“Why are you crying?”

He hadn’t realized, but when he touched his cheeks they were puffy and slick. “Mito got the job.”

He blinked, a bit thrown at this reaction. “That’s great news. I always thought she deserved better than a rowdy place like the King Beetle.”

“They would like to stay longer and look at houses. Mito asked me to stay at your house until they get things in order.”

“Does she know I’m leaving?”

“She said it’s for the best, if you’ll allow it. You’re so close to the school that I can easily walk, and you live in a good neighborhood. She won’t be worried about me staying by myself in this area.”

“Of course. My house is yours for as long as you need it. It will just sit empty anyway. You can lock up and leave the key with one of my neighbors. If you need anything or get sick, Mera is only a few miles away—her number is in my phone.”

“Wait—you aren’t leaving your phone.”

“I won’t have signal there anyway. If you’re going to be here by yourself, you need a reliable cellphone. I also have the fire department, police station, and all takeout places in the area that will deliver to my address.” Kite sat up, hair a rat’s tangle. Frazzled. Exhausted and stressed out. “Just keep it.”

Gon may have protested harder, asking Mito for the money for a new phone instead, if he hadn’t felt as though he was holding an intimate piece of Kite in his hands. Truthfully, he didn’t want to give it up. It had pictures in it that Kite had taken—of cute dogs, butterflies, the sunset, and price tags for items he intended to compare at the grocery store—many off-center and out of focus. A pair of shoes he’d seen out while shopping that he wanted to search online for his size in; his work schedule; a blurry sidewalk; a grocery list he’d written on paper; a ding in the side of his jeep he’d found after leaving it in a parking lot; darkness. All of these things were Kite.

“I won’t keep it. I’m only going to borrow it. And that means you have to come back so I can return it. If you don’t, I’m going over there, finding you, and returning it.”

There was a hesitation, as if he didn’t want to inflate any unreasonable hopes that he would definitely return. But after his eyes travelled across the mess of dirty sheets they were on, he thought better of his stubbornly sober realism. “Deal. I’ll come visit you at your new house and take my phone back.”

Gon draped his naked body over Kite’s legs, laying his head on Kite’s stomach. Then stared down at the sizeable, dark hickeys texturing his hipbones. Trying to find shapes or patterns in order to make sense of the blotches. “I won’t go anywhere if you won’t. We could stay like this forever, live here forever.”

It had become habit now for Kite’s nervous fingers to lace themselves in Gon’s hair. If the rest of Gon had whatever alluring quality his hair had, Kite wouldn’t be able to resist him ever again. “I’m not sure I have the energy to put a teenager through high school. I don’t think I’ve ever been as youthful as you are, not even when I was your age.” It was kind of him not to take Gon’s pleas seriously anymore. Not bothering to shoot them down.

“Not even if we were dating?”

“Gon.” That earned him a reproachful tug on his hair.

He felt himself smiling, despite everything crumbling down around him. It helped to picture it: to imagine coming home from school to this house for the next four years. “ _Oh, come on_. We would only do it once a week. I’d make sure not to wear you out.” He’d be sure to renegotiate and extend the deal after he graduated, leaving no escape. If Kite was a skittish deer, he’d mount his head on the wall just to keep him from getting away. Turns out Gon was a jealous, selfish hunter when it came to Kite.

“We both know I’m too old for you.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And that’s to say nothing of last night.”

They were a tangled mess of naked limbs on a canopy bed, and it was hard for Gon to feel upset by such a mild rejection. There were light hairs on Kite’s stomach that waved in the breeze of his exhales. “You say that now, but sometimes it takes being away from someone to really appreciate them. You’ll come back and not be able to resist me.” He practically giggled, nose still stuffy from crying. Trying to think about anything but having to move away from everyone and everything he loved.

“It seems I’ll have to watch what I say around you from now on. My words can be turned against me at any time.”

“I wouldn’t repeat it if I didn’t think it was true.”

And they fell into silence, the ticking of the clock on the bedroom wall punctuating the precious minutes being frittered away. Time was slipping now that there were limited hours until Kite got on that plane. Limited time until they’d need to put their clothes on and go their separate ways for the day.

“I won’t be able to pick you up after school today. I’ve got to go shopping and get some last-minute supplies for the trip. Will you be alright walking? The forecast doesn’t call for any rain this time.”

“I hope it starts pouring rain. And by the time you pick me up on the side of the road I’ll realize it’s Tuesday again.”

 

Gon was late for class. Even though Kite had dropped him off in enough time, he had decided to walk the school grounds, looking at every crack in the brick and every piece of gum that littered the parking lot.

No matter how much he wanted to freeze his school grounds in his mind as a place of happy nostalgia, he stepped over a sliced open soda can, a plastic six pack ring, a waded up muddy black sock, and a pair of white earbuds. His classmates shoved each other, threw notebooks into mud puddles, cried about this-or-that failed romance, and wrote their names into the crevices of the brick. There were timers ticking down above his head. Two timers counting down until his world dissolved right before his eyes. He resented these bumbling teens for being unable to make his final memories at this school the magical ones he deserved to have.

This sense of helplessness peddled time right out from under him, causing him to be ten minutes late to his first class.

This pattern continued throughout the day as he saw his classmates, teachers, locker—all of it would evaporate. He was late to his other classes. There wasn’t much they could do to him, since he wouldn’t be attending this school much longer anyway. But it was nice to be Killua’s friend with the perks of his lawyer family. He couldn’t bear to be bothered and scolded by teachers. Not today.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Killua anything. Killua quickly picked up on this dangerous, depressing energy and started walking on eggshells. Buying him snacks from the vending machine, touching his hands, and carrying his books for him. There was no way for him to know that his kindness was rubbing crushed glass into open wounds. Gon wanted to slap his hands away, throw the candy in the garbage, and break their friendship off before it was ripped away.

Instead, he kept his mouth shut. Could he really endure this until summer break? He would have to break down and tell him at some point.

School ended, the students filing out in a heap of chaos, not knowing their days in Gon’s life were numbered. Their laughing faces were far away, resting on the surface of a soap bubble that was doomed to pop. Gon ran as many names through his head as he recognized, his slouching bookbag slamming the back of his legs to this dazed mantra.

Killua suddenly blocked his exit, stopping bodily in front of him on the sidewalk, offering a ride back to Kite’s. Desperate to figure out what was wrong or to intervene in on a sadness he didn’t know the source of. His mouth moved the same way it normally did, but the words were so quiet. Even the colors around him seemed to be muted—Killua’s hair was grey instead of white, his shirt a dull blue. The sun a reading lamp in an already-lit room.

Gon was in no mood. He just wanted to be alone, walk back to Kite’s by himself. He pushed past Killua, leaving him standing in the weak sunlight, helplessly watching Gon walk away.

 

He’d barely gotten a block away from the school when his path was blocked again, this time by three older boys from his history class. Their smiles were wide and smarmy, their steps oppressive as they intercepted him every time he tried to go around. Gon didn’t even know their names. But it was clear they had some bone to pick with him. Some repressed issues to channel through their fists just like the boys who had beaten him up on the playground so long ago.

 _Why did bullies always travel in packs of three_? Gon wondered. _And so did misfortune, clearly._ This just had to happen to him while he was grieving two losses. On the final day before Kite left.

It took every ounce of his energy to push out a response: “What do you want from me?”

Their ringleader had both his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets as if he were concealing a weapon. Or wanted Gon to think he was. “We just want to talk about why you get to show up late and Mr. Gully never says anything to you.”

One of the other boys, stirred on by the cocky tone of his leader, added, “You sucking his dick after school?”

Their smiles said they didn’t believe that. This was rehearsed, a comedy routine where they threw around vulgarities to make the naïve victim flustered, vulnerable, and denying.

Gon didn’t say anything.

The third jumped in, the straight man had arrived to deliver their punchline: “No, it’s that Zoldyck boy. His little boyfriend has a big bad lawyer daddy that makes all the teachers piss their pants.”

“That fucker who eats caviar or some shit at lunch?”

Now he recognized them. The boys who had kept their eyes glued to him and Killua in the cafeteria. They hadn’t been eating up innocent gossip about his relationship with Kite, they’d been chewing on a sordid grudge like bulldogs with a bone.

This was the same place where Kite had rescued him on Tuesday—just far enough for the hardware store to be out of sight. The owner probably still _sweep sweep sweeping_ away. When Gon had wished for rain, this hadn’t been what he meant.

“Just get out of my way.” Gon said, low and even. His mood was sour enough without listening to some cowards whine about Killua.

“You aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to get us the same rich bitch privileges you got,” the leader said, stretching himself to increase his height. As if he wasn’t already taller and outnumbered Gon three-to-one. Nothing but bluffers. Rehearsed and powdered up for their big role where they played the villains. Where they could feel bigger, _powerful_ for a few moments in the course of the lives they hated.

“And just how do you expect me to do that? If you want something from Killua, go to him.” The demons of his frustration pulled at the corners of his mouth to make a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Or are you afraid of him?”

“Don’t make us hurt you.”

But even as they said that, they didn’t move. _How annoying._ They had hoped to corner and intimidate him but had no plans of actually doing anything.

Gon rolled his eyes, shifted his backpack, and plowed between the shoulders of two of the boys.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re ignoring?” One of them yelled, pushing him backwards.

“We _will_ hurt you, bitch.”

“Don’t touch me.” Gon didn’t recognize his own voice.

“What, are you scared? You’re nothing but a pussy. That why your dad left you? Couldn’t put up with such a pussy of a son.”

Rumors spread like disease through schoolchildren. It wasn’t surprising that they knew, but Gon was still taken aback. When he was little, Mito reminded him over and over that it wasn’t his fault Ging was absent. And if kids said anything about him not having a dad, he should just keep his head low. Keep his head low and know he was more loved than any kid who would try to tear someone down. _Not all kids get to be as loved as you are_ , she had reminded. A gentle, overworked hand on the back of his neck. Callouses lovingly touching his hairline. _We should feel sorry for them._

“That’s why Kite’s leaving,” Gon said, his voice rising up on its own like vomit, even though they didn’t deserve to hear Kite’s name.

“What?”

“Just get Zoldyck to give us privileges and we’ll leave you alone, idiot.”

“ _That’s why_ …” Ging was the reason Kite was leaving. Ging was the reason Kite thought there was something wrong with himself, despite everything he’d done and accomplished. Ging and his habit of abandoning people. Abandoning the poor, gambling boy who didn’t have what Gon had. The boy who only had Ging until he suddenly didn’t. Mysterious charity followed by radio silence. It was _his_ fault. His fault that Kite had avoided Gon for so long. His fault that Kite might die.

He’d never laid eyes on Ging or met him, but he’d taken more from Gon than any person ever would. He’d hurt Mito and Abe. Financially burdened them with a baby. Caused that baby to grow up—to grow up like _this_.

“Are you going to listen to us? Last chance before we get serious.” The leader stepped over, fists balling up in the fabric of Gon’s t-shirt, yanking him forward to make him pay attention to their pathetic, empty threats.

He imagined Kite pulling up to the curb to save him.

And he thought about what it might be like to become tiny particles embedded in the cracks of the sidewalk, washed away by rain as Kite got out to look around for him. Up and down the road, looking for Gon all along his route to school. But Gon was tiny particles running down a storm drain.

It was as though he were witnessing a fight while hiding underneath a mattress. The sounds were muffled. He felt dizzy and hot, like his skin needed peeled off and rinsed in cold water. There was screaming somewhere. He was on the ground. The sidewalk was hard and gritty.

When he came to, blackness clearing away slowly, his body was moving without his brain, giving him vertigo. Someone was crying. When he was jumped by those bullies on the playground, he hadn’t lost consciousness even when his head was kicked.

There was a soothing sound of slapping, like Kite’s wet, muddy robe against his ankles as he ran in the rain. After he’d kissed Kite’s body for the first time. After Kite had ran his fingers through his hair for the first time. Wearing Kite’s robe. The sounds of wetness. The rain coming down hard that night after his bath as he laced his fingers with Kite’s on the porch.

The leader’s face was beneath his fists, twisted and bloodied. The slapping was his fists banging against the flesh of his cheeks. Again. Again. Again a crack and slap of flesh and bone. Of begging that Gon couldn’t understand, like foreign language from a great distance. But he knew it was pleading. The hard knot that had started inside him, when Kite first told him he was hurting, was finally loosening. A tingling spreading through his body, a relaxation. Happiness. Blood all over the sidewalk beneath the boy’s head. Blood all over Gon’s fists.

Release.

He was pulled backwards, his eyes on the clear blue sky as he lay on his back on the sidewalk. A new voice joining the cacophony of screaming. Killua’s face blocking out the sun above him, tears in his eyes. Mouthing Gon’s name over and over, although Gon couldn’t hear him.

He became aware that he wasn’t particles, but a full body that had done something to someone.

And up he rose on the legs he couldn’t feel, Killua’s hands on him the only way he was able to stand. Ushered into a familiar black car, he saw Illumi dragging the bloody boy to his feet. The black coil of hair. The other two frozen in fear, one face tear-streaked. Gon’s ears still weren’t working—he couldn’t hear anything being said as Illumi’s mouth moved. Reaching into the pocket of his suit. Blood dripping onto his cufflinks.

The scene disappeared, replaced by the spotless interior of the backseat. His heart pounding so hard it hurt all the way from his chest up to his temples.

“What’s the matter with you? Are you okay? _Gon, look at me_ —speak to me! Say something. Say anything.”

He could hear now. The feeling of one of Killua’s hands on his shoulder, the other on his leg. The tint of rage slowly dissolving from his peripheral vision. “What happened?”

“You fucking idiot—I can’t believe you—why would you—you could have gotten hurt!”

Never had Killua been this panicked and uncouth. “Killua.”

“What?”

“If you get abandoned, it’s never your fault.”

There were four-hundred and sixteen Wednesdays in the eight years Kite had been waiting for Ging. Four-hundred and sixteen let downs, Kite sitting there with his coffee. Alone. Abandoned. No one to share his accomplishments with. Thinking his life had changed but suddenly as lonely as he had been in the utility shed.

It was unforgivable.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” A cold hand moved to Gon’s cheek, and he remembered Mito. Loving hands were always touching him, not even considering if he deserved it. Kite deserved it, not him. “As soon as Illumi gets back in here, we’re checking your head. I’ll kill you if you have a concussion. Here,” he said, handing Gon a stark white cloth with the monogram I.Z. “Wipe your hands off.”

Blood all over him, brought into the spotless car. Seeping into the white cloth. Some of the blood was his, his knuckles scraped up and stinging. Flesh so puffy and swollen that his bones could barely be located beneath the skin.

It would have been easier if he had burst into particles instead. He wouldn’t have caused trouble for anyone.

His car door opened, but he was too busy staring at his hands.

“They’ll keep their mouths shut. But I had to call Gotoh to take the tall one to the hospital.”

“Illumi, check his head—he’s not making any sense.”

Foreign fingers prodded at his hair roughly, checking his scalp. If his throat didn’t hurt so much, he’d tell Illumi to stop touching him. No one was allowed to do that except Kite. “No blood on his head.” Chin grabbed forcefully, Illumi stared into his eyes as if he could see directly into his brain. There was resentment, annoyance. Gon wondered if he was holding his breath. Illumi’s eyes dipped down to his monogrammed cloth, which was covered in Gon’s blood. “He’s fine. I highly doubt he has a concussion.”

Killua sighed deeply, clearly trusting Illumi’s judgment despite how he always spoke of hating him. Leaving the cloth in Gon’s hands, Illumi shut his door and got into the driver’s seat.

The cloth laid unmoving in Gon’s palms, so Killua grabbed it and started scrubbing the blood off his scraped and battered knuckles as much as possible without water or antiseptic. “What were you _thinking_? You can’t just unload on a guy like that—that was way beyond self-defense!”

The car pulled from the curb and headed toward Kite’s house.

Gon didn’t say anything.

“Who even was that guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t even know who he is, and you did _that_ to him? He could only see out of one eye the other was so swollen!”

He was in no mood to explain himself. The familiar trees passed by in a blur.

“Mito’s coming back tomorrow, isn’t she? You’d better fix your hands up and hope she doesn’t notice, or you’re going to be in hot water.”

They pulled up to Kite’s house, Kite’s jeep nowhere to be seen, as expected. Probably still at the store. Gon opened the door before Illumi had even shifted into park, taking his bookbag from the floor.

“Gon— _wait!_ You can’t just do something like this and not say anything. What’s going on? Will you please talk to me, you’ve been acting strange for two days now.”

“Thank you, Killua. Illumi,” Gon said as he stepped out of the car.

“I’m worried about you, asshole! You can’t—”

He shut the door and sat on the porch swing until the car slowly, reluctantly drove away. Illumi was Gon’s only saving grace that kept Killua from tumbling out the door and latching himself to Gon’s arm.

Not at all ready to go into Kite’s empty house or address what he had done to those boys, he grabbed the book from the windowsill.

This book was the last thing he needed to look at, he knew, but self-torture was what he was craving. Gon had always been this way—doing things to deepen his own pain when he was sad rather than letting it heal properly. Reopening old wounds over and over until they were sure to scar.

He flipped through beastly-looking animals, poisonous plants, and natural disasters. Civil wars between the local people. Poachers. Lots of poachers with weaponry and military-grade, off-road vehicles. Spikes and barbed wire. This was definitely an honest guidebook, not pulling any punches to encourage tourism. It even included photographs of well-known poachers. It was a very different, chaotic place if they knew the names and faces of the poachers but couldn’t imprison them.

His eyes fell on a woman with wavy white hair, labelled The Matriarch of a group of poachers. In the photo she knelt and held up a lifeless wildcat by the scruff of its neck. Other faceless poachers around her, all holding some manner of deadly weapon.

Alias: Pitou

Danger level: High

Something about this woman stirred him, and he thought about the senseless violence he’d inflicted on those boys. Those cowards who had had no chance of causing him any harm. It hadn’t been self-defense. It was violence. Self-indulgent violence, just like these poachers. Taking his anger out on others who had nothing to do with it.

If Kite knew, he might attribute it to his own bad influence.

Gon shut the book. He decided that if—no, _when_ Kite came back safely, he would tell him how he’d brutalized those bullies while in his care. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to tell him right now, when he already had so much on his mind. So much guilt.

Gon was already keeping so many secrets from everyone. One more wouldn’t split the world in half. And if it did, he welcomed it.

 

The echo of his feet against the hardwood of the empty rooms welcomed him home to silence, to a snapshot of the way the house would be for that indefinite amount of time. The way it would be when Gon came home from school every day, alone, unbeknownst to Mito. Alone, unbeknownst to Kite. Just Kite’s home and Gon, perched on a hollow plot of land in an ignorant suburbia. Neighbors who might not even notice he’s gone for weeks. Fireflies that would miss his porchlights as summer hit full swing. Recycling that may never get picked up.

Head heavy with the weight of the world’s existence, his body stumbled around like a drunk pendulum. Nerves shot from his burning knuckles down to the tips of his jolting fingers, his extremities felt like lab rats coming down from amphetamines. Tingling bare foot leading his shin into a stand with a ceramic elephant and her calf, both of them careening down from their safe island, shattering on the floor into bits of white snow.

He fell to his knees to scoop up the pieces of their bodies, twitching fingers barely able to pluck the bits from the hardwood. He thought of the ivory tusks in the guidebook, stacked up as tall as the poacher standing next to it. How he wished they would trip, fall, and gore themselves on their own prizes so Kite could stay here and help him pick these particles up off the floor. So many minute pieces would take them years to scrape from the grooves in the wood floor.

Pawing at his eyes with dusty white palms, he crawled for the baby’s head, foot knocking the stand and sending it crashing down with a crack of wood on wood, chipping the edge of the elephant’s once-safe home.

Gon screamed, dropping the little pieces of ceramic he’d been cupping, and sprang to his feet. Threes. These things always happened in threes. If he didn’t do something else, the third thing would come to bite him later. He couldn’t wait for the sucker-punch of a third thing. Heart pounding, he set his busted hands on the side of Kite’s bookshelf and flung with all his strength, watching the tower topple. The books come crashing down, some jumping ship before it hit the floor. Albums, books of poetry, anatomy, guidebooks. The force of it falling over rattled the shelves and frames on the walls. The basket of CDs on top of the bookshelf had thrown them up across the room, plastic cases cracking and busting open. Destroying Kite’s property in a petty rage with his already-tainted hands.

Turning heel, he left the room. The start-stop-start-stop of unsure feet taking him away from the mess he should clean up, away from the bullies he should apologize to, away from the best friend he should confess to. He crawled onto Kite’s bed, which had been changed and made before they left that morning, and laid horizontally across it. Too lonely to lay his head on a pillow next to Kite’s empty one.

Away from the town he loved.


	13. Sparrow Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We near the edge of the cliff, the end of the world. We've learned to adapt or die.

There was a tickling on the back of his thigh, like a weighty bug making its way up to the hem of his shorts. When he opened his eyes, Kite’s face was in a tunnel of his own hair, looking down at him. His hand on Gon’s thigh. Stroking it while he slept, watching Gon’s sleeping face. What a long way they’d come from timidly brushing hands as they handed off bowls at dinner.

Kite’s room was dark except for the light falling in through the window, just like it had been yesterday. Combined with the tickle of Kite’s fingers on his thigh, Gon felt himself growing stiff as he reached up and wrapped his arms around Kite’s neck. His hug was returned, pressing Gon further into the bed with the addition of Kite’s weight on top of him.

There were flecks of lingering dreams that he tried to blink away, dream Kite’s voice saying, “ _I didn’t die after all, you stopped me._ ” A yanking on his guts as if he cast out his intestines on a fishing rod, trying to reel in the thing dream Gon had done to convince him to stay. His consciousness bobbed out on the lurid lake between dream and reality, trying and failing to find the answer, queasy from the rocking waters. He inhaled deeply, the smell of Kite’s hair was a gentle smelling salt that helped him gain his bearings.

His hands ached and pulsated as they met each other behind Kite’s neck. If he left them there for the next twenty-hour hours, the soft hair would heal them fully. He’d never throw his hands into someone’s unwilling flesh again, errant and violent, because they’d be in Kite’s hair, his hands, his lap—wrapped around his erection and travelling his legs.

He let one hand fall from Kite’s neck and jabbed at his thumb at Kite’s frown. How much longer could he say the name: “Kite.”

His banged-up hand must have caught in Kite’s peripheral vision, because Kite righted himself and held Gon’s hand in both of his. “What happened?”

Instead of an answer, Gon wormed his free hand down to Kite’s crotch, level with his head as he lay on the bed. Clutching blindly through the fabric, hoping Kite wanted it as much as he did right now. Hoping he wanted to spend his last night repeating the night before. “This time, you can put it in me.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” Kite’s expression wasn’t visible, but he stepped back so Gon could no longer reach his body.

He felt like a cat on his back, pawing at empty air. “You don’t want it?”

“We’ve barely been out of the house this week other than school and work. I thought we’d go somewhere.”

Gon snapped his body up fast enough to whiplash. “A date?!”

“I suppose. If you’d like to call it that.”

“What should I wear? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

 

“Let’s grab dinner first. You’ve barely eaten since –”

The rest of it was snatched out of the air, Gon’s fists tangled in his lap like small, swollen animals. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, his stomach a creaky bowling ball in a gritty gutter. Food only added another spin to it. But he’d toss another bowling ball down into the valley of his intestines to have a dinner date with Kite.

Kite took a sharp left at a familiar pet store – the one that didn’t let you hold or touch the animals unless they had your name on file. Or unless the employees with their clean nails and button-down shirts remembered your face. The small vibration in Gon’s seat dissipated as clean, onyx asphalt spread out before Kite’s jeep. Not a single pothole in sight on roads that were only maintained at night so as not to inconvenience the taxpayers who kept the entire town afloat.

They were on Killua’s side of town. There was a private school that Killua had refused to go to when he started middle school, even though all of his brothers had graduated from it. Every time they passed the gilded, manicured lawn of the private school, Gon silently thanked it and its students for doing whatever they did to chase Killua away. Or he should have thanked Killua’s family for inspiring him to rebel so intensely that he was willing to leave a school like that for a place where Killua could barely stomach the food. Where the other kids treated him as some kind of untouchable god that they could never relate to. Maybe he would go back to his private school once Gon moved. It was probably for his own good.

Gon hadn’t treated him well anyway. Lying to him and making him come to Gon’s rescue. Costing his family—or was it just Illumi?—a nice lump sum to keep those battered boys quiet. Staining the white cloth that was Killua’s sturdy life with blood and secrets and disappointment.

When he pulled out Kite’s phone to text Killua, his fingers wouldn’t move. He read the consecutive, worried-to-panicking messages stacked up and couldn’t type anything. As they pulled up and parked at some tall building with glass sides, he silenced the phone.

“Be careful opening your door,” he said, motioning to the car on the passenger side. Even Kite was very aware that this was an expensive neighborhood. _Of course he would be_ —Gon corrected himself— _he grew up poorer than Gon_. He was probably more aware than anyone of exactly where the invisible borders were. He’d walked them intimately. Been chased out of one and into another. The golf course was probably within this secret border, further north where Gon hadn’t been.

They went through a revolving door into a quiet lobby. A chocolatier on their right, where Killua had spent plenty of time, walking there after final bell while he was still attending the private school. A law firm was on the left.

He followed Kite into a shiny elevator that took them to the fifth floor. Even the elevator was silent, didn’t jerk or groan at all. Unable to tell they were moving until the doors opened onto the entryway of another restaurant.

The terrace spread out before them from beyond a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Potted and planted foliage, paved pathways, and even a fountain made it resemble a park but with a high concentration of rich wooden tables being visited by attentive waiters in uniform. It was only now that Gon noticed it was a sunny day, even though the sun was low in the sky. There was a twinge of unfairness under his skin. He shouldn’t have been somewhere so beautiful, with Kite, under these circumstances. Not with Kite leaving soon. Not after he’d splattered warm blood onto a hot sidewalk for no other reason than to vomit his own distress, to turn out his body like the lining of a backpack after spilling milk everywhere.

“I was wondering why you brought me to this area of town,” Gon said as the waitress lead them, hips swaying, to a table near the edge of the terrace. Thankfully, Gon had no fear of heights. He couldn’t see Kite’s jeep from this side of the building, but he could see long stretches of green, manicured yards and front lawns to new, pristine businesses. The Zoldycks had a huge estate, with a tall gate wrapping all the way around and a back garden, with a koi pond and flowers grouped and blocked off by color. It created a rainbow effect, which was easy to spot in the distance. Gon had never looked at it from above before; he wondered if it was supposed to be shaped like anything but couldn’t tell from this angle. His best guess would have been a dragon, judging by their choice in interior design.

He would miss this town. And Killua.

“Would you like your usual?” She said sweetly, cocking her head, notepad down to her side. Confident enough to memorize the orders.

“That will be great, thank you. He would like a menu.” Kite was dressed nicely in gray slacks and a blue, lightweight turtleneck. It suited him. Gon looked woefully awkward in his breast-pocketed T-shirt, black shorts, and flipflops, but he hadn’t packed anything nicer. Everyone around them was dressed to the nines, most of them probably attorneys from the law firm downstairs who were on their lunch hour.

She gave a friendly wink to Gon that made his body warm pleasantly in the sun. He hid his hands under the fluttering white tablecloth as she laid down his menu, took their drinks (an iced tea for Kite, a lemonade for Gon,) and bounded away on the airy soles of her white flats. Gon thumbed over the black matte menu, leaving fingerprints as he held it fast. The light but steady wind could have taken it at any moment.

“You have a regular here too?”

“Didn’t I tell you—I rarely cook during the week. I turn to frozen dinners, takeout, and places like this every once in a while.” He looked out over the ledge towards the Zoldyck’s colorful garden. Did everyone on this terrace, who could see their finely-crafted landscape, know who it belonged to? If Gon didn’t already know, he would stop at nothing to find out who built and maintained such a vibrant curiosity. But he’d discovered, as he grew up, that adults were stunted in the curiosity department. Especially if it costed them any kind of precious time or effort to satiate. “Not a good way to budget,” Kite added, sipping his cold tea. Adults traded in their curiosity for gross teas and coffees.

_Except for Kite_ , he supposed. Kite wouldn’t be going to another continent if he didn’t still have that curiosity, the drive to see and experience new things. The thought made Gon smile, despite where Kite’s nature would lead him. It reminded him of the way he used to imagine Ging before he realized the world existed. Curiosity, goals, and intrigue weren’t everything—not in the face of the world existing. But he would have kept on believing that if he hadn’t met Kite first.

The waitress dipped by again, touching Gon’s shoulder as she came up behind him. A quick thought bubbled in his mind on whether she was doing this for a better tip or if she was a truly a friendly person. A thought that wouldn’t have come to him when he was still blind to the world. “I’ll have—uh,” he hadn’t decided because he’d been too lost in thought to read the menu. The first thing he read was: “The macaroni, please.”

Kite put down his glass of tea loudly. Eyes on Gon. Looking dissatisfied. “Get whatever you want.”

Gon’s smile was weak and clumsy, as if trying to play Kite’s behavior off as an inside joke. “The macaroni is fine—”

“Get whatever you want,” Kite repeated, louder. The waitress shifted uncomfortably at his tone, shifting her eyes down to her toes.

Some kind of mind game? Gon scanned the menu again. Kite must have wanted him to get something a little more adult, or a little more expensive. This was the first dinner they’d eaten out at a restaurant together. “Then—I’ll have, uh, the tempura—”

“Get whatever you want.”

_Still not expensive enough_? What was Kite trying to _do_? He was embarrassing both of them, the waitress clutching her unused notebook in front of her lap. Waiting on them to end this lovers’ spat so she could get back to work. Gon felt a dull anger crawl up his neck and tick into his jawline. Scanning the menu for something to satisfy Kite’s unspoken requirement. “Mushroom risotto—”

“Get whatever you—”

“The steak!” Gon yelled over him, reading he most expensive thing he could find. “I want the steak. That’s what I want!”

Kite went quiet, handing his menu back to the waitress. Seemingly satisfied with Gon’s answer.

“The thirteen-ounce?” Her voice higher with a lilt of uncertainty as to whether she was being tested too.

“Yes! That’s what I want!” He could feel eyes on him from all around. A kid in shorts and a t-shirt, yelling for steak at the top of his lungs. “Medium!” He couldn’t remember what the levels were for steak, but that was the first one that came to mind. He couldn’t look uncertain now.

“I’ll have the same.”

She nodded sharply, not lifting her notebook. She would _definitely_ remember that order. Giving a quick smile, she darted off behind a kousa dogwood. Gon shot a glare at Kite, only to see him smiling, looking out beyond the ledge again. The Zoldyck property or somewhere else.

Although the first question out of Gon’s mouth as soon as she walked away was going to be ‘ _why_ ,’ he found it to no longer mattered. Simple as that. Swooped off the terrace like a leaf caught by the wind. Kite pushed his sleeves up so his bare forearms were exposed. His cat scratch had healed to the point where it was just a bit of discoloration. He didn’t touch it in passing, because the pain was now gone and there was no more texture. The dam had broken, Kite no longer reaching for that security.

Now Gon was a wounded animal laying on a radiating, painful sore. Needing to feel it trapped under his own body, to keep it safe from further harm. But it ached harder in protest. His half-dead heart wrapping itself around Kite like a climbing, coiling vine, protecting itself from breaking entirely.

“I first came here with a few of the regular golfers. They invited me for a free dinner, and I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu out of consideration for them. Then they had me hang off the side of the building, taking bets on how long I could hang there. I did it because they bought me dinner.” He squinted as though he could see the course in the distance. “I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. That was what my safety ended up being worth.”

“Are you really going to eat a steak?”

He nodded. “Can’t afford to eat however I like over there.”

Gon sipped his lemonade.

“Truth is, I should have started altering my diet a month ago.”

“What changed?”

Again, Kite had no intention of answering. It was these tiny distinctions that he didn’t have the effort for anymore. _Fill in the blanks yourself, Gon: I was in denial about going; I was overwhelmed with everything else I had to do to prepare for this; I couldn’t bring myself to break such a powerful habit._ The catalyst that inspired him now was Gon and the things they’d done. Rolling around in the sheets had pushed him into the deep end of the ice-cold water. No time to adjust or ease into it.

The steaks came, massive slabs of meat laid in front of both of them. As much as Gon loved meat, he rarely got a steak this large all to himself. The way they laid their charred backs on the bleached white plates and tablecloth was vulgar. It felt like violence. For Kite, this was a necessary violence. For Gon, it wasn’t.

As Kite took up his steak knife, he looked like he was preparing to slash someone. His pale forearms with his scar an extension of the blade he poised above the steak. Gon looked down at his fists, feeling as though he should be using them to pound his steak.

He picked up his fork instead, stabbing and dragging up to his mouth clumsily, watching Kite shove a chunk past his lips. Looking queasy already as he forced his teeth down on the texture. Getting the first bite down his throat, he set down his knife and fork. Giving up already.

Gon swallowed his bite soon after, the rest of the steak smacking back down onto the plate. Juice smeared across his mouth. They were quite a pair, choking down steaks in front of men in suits and women in blouses. Fresh air blowing their senses open to really smell and taste the meat that neither of them wanted to be eating.

“What have we done to each other?”

It wasn’t clear whose mouth that had come from, but any response was cut off by the sudden slamming of a shadow into the center of their table that toppled the glass candleholder centerpiece, shattering it. Someone let out a shriek, the broken glass flung across their table, the concrete beneath them, and the grass a few feet away.

It was a dead sparrow, wings sprawled out on the center of the table like a crime scene. Completely dead, no life left, no external wounds. Beak splayed open like it was waiting for its turn to say something. Feet twisted up like it was posing.

Gon jumped up and leaned over the table, wanting to touch it and check for signs of life, but knew already it was useless. All he could do was whisper, “ _How could this happen?_ ” before the waitress ran over in a scramble of limbs, pulling him away by the shoulder so he wouldn’t touch it.

“We’ll get that cleaned up right away, I’m so sorry—”

As if she had any control of a dead bird falling out of the sky.

Kite had already sliced another piece off his steak, forcing it into his mouth. His lips curling above his teeth in an effort to get it down his throat without touching it to his nose.

 

At eight o’clock in the evening, the zoo was deserted. They’d driven in the car for about forty-five minutes, windows cracked and radio playing lowly. Kite barely spoke, his eyes moving across the empty back roads as if the solution to all of his troubles was somewhere in the dust particles being kicked up by the jeep’s tires.

They didn’t talk about the sparrow or the steak. Kite had managed to finish his entire plate, a feat that Gon never wanted to see again. Thankfully, Gon’s had a feather on it, eliminating any pressure for him to eat it. They offered to replace it but Gon declined. They refunded Kite’s money instead through a chorus of apologies. But that kind of thing didn’t matter where he was going.

Gon had been to this zoo once on a field trip in elementary school. It had looked gigantic back then, but now it looked intimate, especially in the dusk. The sun was setting as they walked in through the wrought iron gates of elephants and giraffes entangled like a single entity. “I thought the zoo closed at five o’clock?”

“Actually, there was an event until seven. I planned to take you while it was still going on, but my shopping ran late. I called some people here that helped me while I was studying exotics. It may not be as fun with no one around.”

There was a cool breeze that blew Gon’s hand into Kite’s, and he strangled it with the force of every person not around. “It’s perfect.” After all, there would have been no way they could have done these kinds of things if other people had been around. Gon was too old to look like he was still glomming on an older brother or father figure. Palms touching.

Kite ran his fingers along his swollen knuckles, over the patches of skin that had been split open on that boy’s face. The Kite of last week would have scolded him, rolled his eyes at his childish schoolyard scrapping. Told him to apologize. This version of him seemed to know the real nature of what it had been and didn’t want to spoil this day on reiterating Gon’s obvious wrongs. Both more forgiving and less caring about the good and evils right in front of him. As if he were making a point of how moral he was even allowed to be, given what they had done last night. So disappointed in himself that he was willing to let Gon get away with senseless violence.

They strolled along the empty cobblestone paths, Gon’s flipflops breaking up the otherwise powerful silence. Most animals located near the front entrance were already in the back of their enclosures, resting. During the fieldtrip, he had never noticed the tall lamps along the pathways that were now lit brightly. Their shadows were split between the low sun and the lamps. There was trash scattered about from the event—wrappers, water bottles, discarded cotton candy and ice cream cones. It made him realize how the consequences of action and existence still remained, even after they were long out of sight and mind.

There was an ugly, open-mouthed clown deflating in front of a closed face-painting stall. “What kind of event did you say this was?”

Kite shrugged. “Some kind of kids’ day.” Gon shot him a reproachful look that said, _you thought I’d like this?_ To which Kite merely turned his head away, back towards the clown. “I saw it advertised on Tuesday, okay?”

That softened Gon’s heart. Not because he forgave Kite for lumping him in with five-year-olds, but because they had a secret language. Tuesday was before everything had happened—before Kite was forcibly made to realize that he wasn’t some little kid. Nothing more needed said between them than _it was on Tuesday_ and they both filled in the context. No one else would have access to this secret week language; it was something they would have between them. “I forgive you, but—what were you thinking? _Clowns_? Totally creepy, and most kids don’t even like clowns!”

Kite placed a hand on its nose, as if encouraging it to deflate—the blowup mascot version of suffocating it with a pillow. “Actually, when I was young, I loved clowns.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, which was probably insensitive, considering Kite had never shared anything about his childhood with Gon before. But a serious man like Kite, loving clowns? “I’m sorry,” he breathed out as soon as his giggles stopped. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just hard for me to imagine.” In his mind, Kite as a child was still an adult version of himself. But that wasn’t true. He’d probably played with his food, smiled, and held his stomach when it hurt from laughing so much.

“It’s alright.”

“Why did you like clowns, of all things?”

He picked up a discarded palette of face paint, dipping his index into the red. “Because they try to make people happy. And a lot of people hate them or are afraid—they know that—but that doesn’t stop them from trying.” The red finger moved closer until the tip of Gon’s nose had a dollop of paint. It was glaring to have something so bright on his face, just beyond his focus. “I know I could never do it.”

Gon wanted to argue, but it was childish to insist Kite could do something he knew was beyond the scope of Kite’s personality. He struggled even with casual friendships. Gon could never see him becoming a clown in a million lifetimes. Maybe being friends with one, but not becoming one.

“You thought about that when you were a kid?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate any further, setting the palette back down on the stall. His mind had wandered elsewhere, back to the boy who loved clowns—not because they were funny, but because they tried to be.

Gon knew it was a place he couldn’t tread. If Kite wanted to say more, he would have. Instead, he wiped the red paint off with the back of his hand, leaving an incriminating smear on top of his busted knuckles. Remembering Illumi’s white cloth, where he’d wiped away the real blood he’d beaten from living bodies. It was something that wouldn’t escape him, but he wiped it from his hand onto his shorts.

“Do you want to see some lions?” Kite asked abruptly, his voice sounding brittle in the still air.

“Sure,” he said, looking around to see where the lions were that caught his eye. But there weren’t any. Kite seemed preoccupied with them specifically, hand squeezing Gon’s tighter. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Will you be saving lions over there?”

“Possibly,” he said, whipping his head quickly around, looking for—or _out for_ —any staff, and then quickly hauled Gon by the hand to some corner behind an enclosure. A low noise escaped him that sounded like _shhhh_ ; he let go of Gon’s hand, kneeled, and hovered a cupped hand next to his knee.

“Are we—”

“ _Hopping the fence, yes. Hurry_ ,” came out in an urgent whisper.

There was so much wrong with what was happening, and Gon’s head pounded in fear, but he didn’t hesitate to put his flipflop in Kite’s hand and pivot over the fence. The shock to the balls of his feet were jarring as he landed.

Suddenly, he was in a lion enclosure. With real lions.

 Even though he didn’t see any skulking bodies, his skin started crawling. This wasn’t like sneaking into a movie or shimmying onto the roof of his house to feel rebellious. _He could die_. His entire life in the hands of unpredictable creatures, he had absolutely no control over not being mauled to death. A mortal fear came over him in a way it never had before.

Kite followed over the fence with a single, impressive vertical jump on his long legs; he had to have done things like this a thousand times when he was younger, living a rougher life. He landed impeccably, not shaken at all by the hard ground battering his feet. Tossing his hair back, he smiled at Gon, who was not hiding his terror well. A sharp, fearful whisper rolled from his lips. “You aren’t allowed to do this, are you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Not unsupervised, no.”

“Kite—we—we should stop.”

“This too thrilling for you? Not at all like getting into a fight.”

Gon shoved his hands into his pockets, face burning. “That’s not fair.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“This isn’t like you—it’s irresponsible.”

He kicked a sizeable stone as hard as he could into a clutter of bushes, and it made Gon shudder. The lions could be hiding in those bushes just like his grade school bullies. Waiting to get him back for becoming a bully in turn.

“I know it is. I’m afraid of getting mauled by some big cat as soon as I go over there to help one. Maybe the tranquilizer doesn’t work quickly enough, maybe it wakes up too soon and gets ahold of me. I’ve always had a strange fear of them. Maybe that’s why they don’t like me.” Kite bent down, kissing his lips forcibly, unexpectedly, rocking Gon’s core in tandem with the absolute terror capsizing his guts. Jostling his guts all the way down to his pelvis. “I suppose I’m taking it out on you.”

It was enough to steel him. Gon was ready to put his swollen, sore fists to some lions if it meant giving Kite the peace of mind to face his fears. Both his fear of lions and his fears about dying. Maybe, just maybe it would increase his chance of survival to have someone face this with him before he left. “Promise you’ll take your entire trip out on me when you come back.”

His armpits and back were sweltering, dripping sweaty fear as they ventured further into the enclosure, Gon watching his feet carefully as if he would suddenly step on a massive tail or paw with his thin plastic soles. Hand a vice on Kite’s, his body pressed against his side in such a way that would make them incredibly vulnerable if something did try to attack. He was sweating so much the lions could smell him, which meant Kite could too.

When they arrived at the back of the enclosure, the hulking beasts were sleeping like boulders sprouted from the soil. Gon tried to freeze in place, but Kite persisted forward. As much as he admired Kite’s determination to conquer his fear, Gon’s knees were shaking the closer they got. It was becoming harder and harder to take each step, to see the massive head and muscle in detail, the paws that contained an assured death with a swipe. He wanted to be back in school, sitting at his desk, bored and half-asleep while staring at the clock instead of here, thinking about never being able to go to school again.

“You’re shaking like a leaf. Stay back if you don’t want to touch her.”

Their clammy hands broke apart. All Gon could do was watch as Kite’s long-legged gait took him further and further away. Towards the hulking lioness closest to him. Towards danger.

Dreams of goring other animals made her ears twitch. Kite’s fingers got closer, hand visibly shaking as he stopped a foot away from her, squatting slowly behind her head. He was made of marble, crouching there, his body would have sank into the earth if it had been any softer. He was a memorial of himself, the self that had been so deliriously stupid and reckless as to touch a live beast in front of a fourteen-year-old witness. But it was a self he could be proud of, instead of the safe, confined life he could be proud of living all these years. This new self could choke down a steak in front of a bird corpse instead of nibbling sliced watermelon in front of a screen.

As if the same thoughts propelled him forward, so too did his hand reach out to brush the fur on her sagittal crest—the indicator that she could crush the bones of his arm with a single bite from lucid jaws. Lucidity was only a moment away at all times, but his skilled fingers moved, petting her like a house cat or dwarf rabbit. Imagining her fur matted with blood, needing his help, needing him to extract bullets from her flesh, stitch her shut, or save her cubs. Under his hand, her head belonged to whatever beasts were on that continent, the ones he’d given his faithful word to save even though he’d had a thousand second thoughts.

It was then that Gon’s own selfish heart stood illuminated in the dark. He’d flung his teeth and claws into Kite from the moment he’d stepped foot into Kite’s home, not stopping for a moment to think of anyone ever needing him more. Sobbed, hiccupped, and pawed Kite’s flesh in the dark to keep him from leaving.

Begged. Blamed.

As soon as his curiosity about Kite’s occupation had been extinguished, his consideration for it vanished soon after. Instead of thinking about the animals he wanted to save, thinking of what this trip could mean to Kite as a lover of animals, he assigned his own reasoning: Kite was running. Kite was in agony over Ging—both of which may have still been true, but there was more. And that more was what held Kite’s decision in its hands. Kite wasn’t someone who would run away, facing his own mortality, for such weak reasons. Gon had come to pity Kite, to want to keep and protect him; it had blinded him to Kite’s strength.

The visage of that leonine, white-haired poacher came to him. Her smile was that of the sleeping lioness. The Matriarch. Kite was going to fight, not just to hide and pray he didn’t die.

“You’re…so strong,” Gon whispered, air pushing out of his cold lips and getting lost.

Kite must have picked it up anyway because his marble head moved, eyes swimming with something like excitement. His free hand motioned like he was stirring water towards his chest, wanting Gon to roll in like the tide. Touch the beast. Face his fear too.

Kite’s hand swirled up the tide inside him to monumental levels, and he no longer felt afraid. It vanished, replaced with a feeling that he could do anything too, even if it meant going to the continent and fighting back-to-back with Kite. It was different than when he’d lost all fear and inhibitions with the bullies—this was real power that stamped his feet forward, bent his knees, and placed his hand next to Kite’s. Bruised knuckles, marked with violence, nestled next to soft ones made for healing. Thumbs brushing, knees touching, glances bouncing from the closed eyes below them to each other’s open eyes.

She was warm. Fur not as soft as he expected, but coarse and short, pressed tightly over the bone of her skull. He felt his own heartbeat in his hand as the adrenaline soared through him.

He couldn’t go with Kite, no matter how fearless he was. To be next to him as they lay their hands on fear, on a life that deserved to persist without human interference, was the closest he would come to following Kite onto that plane.

“I’m glad I could get this close,” he said to no one in particular, but Kite smiled, unreserved and equally full of adrenaline.

Gon had wanted to affect Kite, to be something he could never recover or run away from.

On top of her head, Kite’s hand eclipsed his, just as he would hold it every time his hand met the fur of a big cat that tried to turn him to marble.


	14. Youth

That night, Gon got into the fridge and served the rest of the watermelon, knowing it wouldn’t taste sweet after Kite had gone. Kite barely touched his, scrambling around to do last-minute packing that he’d put off all week to keep his trip a secret. Dipping low to gather up things he may need, it was like when he’d plucked Gon’s bags up off the sidewalk just after Mito had pulled away. It felt both like yesterday and years ago.

Crushing bite after bite absentmindedly between his teeth, he thought about Kite’s body through his clothes. He wanted to close the suffocating space keeping them apart, make him drop the clothes he folded into tight balls, and yank the clothes from his body. It was the anxiety and grief—that same hollow place inside him stirring his arousal. Would he always be like this—someone who couldn’t grieve without tearing his teeth into the body causing it? Kite had set this precedent for him.

As he finished off the last bites of both his and Kite’s watermelon, his penis was stiff. He wanted Kite to maul him the way he’d been terrified the lioness would do, push his face into the futon, and desperately push into him the way animals mated in the woods. Punish him for beating those boys into the pavement and for hiding it from him. Mark him and tell him not to dare take another lover until he came home.

_Wait here for me. Don’t you dare leave this house until I come home._

But Kite was everything gentle in this world, everything neither Gon nor Ging deserved to keep for their own. Kite was his own person, finally, and Gon couldn’t take it away from him.

Kite was all angles, snapping his bony wrists and cocking his triangular hips across the house he wouldn’t see again for an unknown amount of time. Walking the dips and grooves he’d made by pacing, ghosting over groaning floorboards, which had been committed to his subconscious. Taking sharp turns around the curves and corners.

Tomorrow he would pull his long legs in towards him as he packed himself on a crowded flight headed to godforsaken soil he’d never walked before. Not knowing where to avoid placing his feet.

“That about does it,” he said finally, zipping up his large, singular suitcase. It looked brand-new. Maybe he’d never even been on a plane before. If he’d been in this town his entire life, he was leagues braver than Gon for being able to leave. Gon could beat a boy to mincemeat but couldn’t face his own battles head-on the way Kite was doing. “Are you,” he started, stopped, and restarted, “are you alright?”

“I’m not going to cry, if that’s what you’re asking.” Gon opened a smile on his face like a self-inflicted wound. Only for Kite, only to make himself stronger. “I got that all out of my system.”

Kite didn’t look convinced. “I mean—are you going to be alright?” Fearless, he closed the space between them and put both of his hands in Gon’s hair. Just letting them rest on the burning scalp of his smooth skull. Live there for as long as they could. “I’ve been preoccupied with my own departure, but it can’t be easy for you to be moving away.”

_Not if I can help it_ , is what he wanted to say. “Can’t I just redeem myself tonight?”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not on top of everything else.” Redemption through the bottling of tears, up until the exact moment when Kite was out that door and the bottle burst.

“Okay.”

“Kite?”

“Yes?”

“Will you take a bath with me?”

He cast a careful eye on the bags that lay at the door, at the messy corners of his living room, towards the kitchen where there were unwashed dishes, and to his bedroom—which would all be left in their current state once morning came. Everything would stagnate exactly as it was as soon as he decided it was time to settle in with Gon for their last goodnight-goodbyes.

His shoulders slouched, a harsh exhale escaping his nose, as if he’d only just been able to let go of his home. Only just relinquished any control he may have still felt he had over his departure. It was coming, and no amount of cleaning, straightening, or packing was going to change it.

“Sure, let’s go.” The hands dripped down Gon’s scalp like simultaneous droplets of water, trailing down past his temples, the curve of his ears, and down his jawline before finally dropping back to Kite’s sides. This stoked the coals in Gon’s guts, following him quickly into the bathroom. The oasis that he would have to abandon for a latrine.

The bathwater started running, Kite bent over his bottles and salts, shaking and stirring colors and smells into the water. Satisfied, he left it to fill and walked over to adjust the lighting with a dimmer switch Gon had never noticed before. Down to a comfortable, low light, just enough to reflect off the moving water filling the tub, Kite crossed his arms and removed his shirt in one fluid motion.

“Wait!” Gon blurted as soon as Kite’s hands settled on the waist of his pants. “Let me—let me do it.”

Flickering eyes met the familiar tile floor again, cheeks coloring even under the dimmed light. A small smile tugged his lips and eyes back up from the grout. Recaptured Gon’s eyes, not shying away. Which had been scarier: facing this sordid, irresponsible relationship head-on or climbing into the literal lion pit?

A nod launched Gon across the room, hands bumping and jerking the button from its hole. Fumbling the zipper roughly until he realized he should be careful. Catching glimpse of the thin material beneath, catching his breath. Hips so thin it took little effort for them to fall, bunched at his ankles, leaving the stiffness in his underwear exposed atop long, pale legs. Slipping reverent fingers into the waistband, he held his breath again, as if his breath so close to Kite’s body would cause the man to flee before he could lock eyes on the cock he’d exposed in half-darkness the night before.

But Kite stayed rooted, freed from all of his clothing. Standing rigid as the tub reached fullness, he pivoted around to turn it off—which was just as well, because Gon would have lost himself in the need to touch him right then and there. He would have missed the sweetness as Kite took the initiative to slip his hands beneath Gon’s shirt, tickling his stomach a moment before lifting it up and off him, Gon raising his arms automatically.

Kite was more self-assured than Gon had been, tossing the shirt across the room with a fervor of adrenaline, then grabbing the front of Gon’s shorts, yanking him forward with the force of his enthusiasm. Kite didn’t play around, throwing his shorts and underwear down in one fluid motion.

The two of them made a pair. Young, tan, and short; tall, pale, and looming. Black and white hair, hardness and masculine energy radiating from both bodies. Culpable, innocent, and destructive all compounding into the same person. Neither touching, because they understood the nature of their chemistry—if a touch went too low or too long, they wouldn’t make it to the bath.

They lowered their bodies into the tub, which impressively fit them both; Gon nestled himself between Kite’s long, bent legs. He couldn’t properly see Kite’s erection from the depths of the water, which had been turned a slight pink by whatever Kite had added. This calmed both their itchy fingers. Closing his eyes, he leaned back on Kite’s chest and inhaled the rosehip scent he wouldn’t have recognized if he hadn’t chosen it once before. Had Kite thought it was his favorite and selected it intentionally?

Neither of them spoke for a while, listening only to the sounds of shifting water as they adjusted. Gon’s hands found Kite’s thighs in the steaming water, where he raked gentle tracks with his fingernails. He wished the pink depths weren’t hiding Kite’s reaction to his touch, but he had faith now that Kite wasn’t unaffected. He affected Kite. He didn’t need confirmation.

“This week has been a typhoon,” Kite said unexpectedly, his deep voice rumbling the back of Gon’s skull through his chest.

“Y-yeah,” Gon inhaled deeply, having been unaware he was still so rattled until he found the full force of his own voice unreachable. “Just a few hours ago, we were in a lion’s enclosure.”

“And less than a day before that, we were—”

“We had sex,” Gon said firmly, insistently, unwilling to let Kite gloss over it. His fingernails made a slightly deeper round, pressing harder into the thighs hiding beneath a film of pink water.

“Yes.”

“It feels like we were supposed to do more.”

“What do you mean?”

“This week. Together.” It was hard to explain, but just like with Pitou’s face, he felt this strange sense of familiarity. Like they’d done this all before but had more than a week to do it. Had even done more than he remembered—and in the moments between lucidity and sleep, he saw Kite’s reactions to things they’d never done together.

“Like what?”

“You taught me a lot of things, like how to fight.”

“Fight? I wouldn’t do that.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed Gon’s hand, pressing an accusing thumb over the bruises that spread across his knuckles like splotches of paint beneath the surface of his skin. “You shouldn’t fight unless you absolutely have to. But there are so many options out there to defend yourself, you should never need to _fight_.”

“I know. I just feel like you’ve shown me—in some other world.”

The thumb’s presses got lighter, until it was as though he were trying to cleanse them with pink water. “You’ve got the greatest imagination I’ve ever seen. What else have we done?”

“We planted a garden.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Because when you plant gardens, you’re great at the start. But once they show signs of browning you tend to get discouraged. Which is strange, because you’re usually so determined. Maybe because they’re living things that you’ve failed.”

Kite didn’t say anything for a while, imagining the garden Gon said they had planted. “You have me all figured out, don’t you?”

“I saw you smoking once and asked if I could try a cigarette. You let me, and I felt really sick. You got me a glass of water and told me I’d learned my lesson.”

“That _does_ sound like me. Does that mean you’ve actually learned that lesson without trying it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good. Don’t start smoking. Anything else?”

“There’s so much—but, my favorite is when you stayed over at my house. We slept on the pullout bed because my bed wasn’t big enough. It was really hot, because Mito doesn’t like to spend money on air conditioning. You were burning up but wouldn’t ask Mito to turn on the air. We both knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, so we—”

“Sounds like a nice dream you had.”

“It wasn’t a dream. It happened—or, it will happen. I’m not sure which.”

“I see.” Kite didn’t sound convinced, but it didn’t stop him from smiling into the back of Gon’s head.

He knew he couldn’t convince Kite that these things were real, because he could barely convince himself that they were. And maybe it was the desperation pushing him to make these happy thoughts seem like memories. But if that were the case, why did he remember bad things too? Pitou’s face, times when Kite told him to stop touching him, Mito giving them a knowing, disapproving look. Was it the future?

“Hey—did I do alright?” Gon asked suddenly, his voice dropped the bravery, the maturity it had before.

On the crown of his head Kite pressed a hard, silent kiss. “Obviously, idiot.”

“Is—” The splashing of water interrupted him as he shifted swiftly, uncomfortably, as his blood rushed south again. “Is your butt okay?”

Kite laughed, Gon riding the rise and fall of his chest. “I hopped a fence, what do you think?”

“I think you’re amazing.”

Kite stopped laughing, withdrawing and sinking his hands beneath the water like a capsized ship; Gon was sure he’d fucked up somehow. Ruined the light mood. Made him recall something unpleasant.

But two arms broke the surface of the water, resurrected, wrapping themselves around Gon’s shoulders, crossing over his chest. Warm and tight as Kite squeezed him to his body, hard. So hard it almost hurt. He held him in place, Gon swearing he could hear the rapid heart pounding behind him. It was like Kite died right there, slumping forward like a doll, ceasing to function. Gon, enveloped so tightly in his arms, was the only thing he was choosing to take with him into the afterlife.

“Thank you,” Kite said, voice ethereal, coming from the other side of the world. Stopping time entirely. Wanting to give them more than a week together. To do all of those things Gon was sure they had done or would do.

It wasn’t a ‘thank you’ that you could respond to.

Gon let his heart feel full, hot like a bathtub of water and two bodies pressed close. Water trickled down Kite’s forearms onto Gon’s biceps and chest. Nothing else existed but Kite’s thank you. Ging evaporated—along with Mito, Abe, the King Beetle, Rig, Killua, Mera, the bullies, Pitou, and the entire deadly continent. Kite and Gon were the only people left on the planet. A week might as well have been an entire lifetime. Kite’s thank you erased every year he’d felt alone, every drunken cry he’d had in his dorm room, wanting his mysterious, charming benefactor to come hold him. To grant him direction.

“Kite?”

Kite didn’t respond.

How long had they been in the tub, Kite holding onto him for dear life? The water was turning cold.

“Will you fuck me?”

It was the vulgarity of it that settled in Kite’s stomach, blooming into something primal. Turning every introspection into something bodily. Rebirthing the ethereal back into something filthy and desperate—divinity transformed into an erection pressing into the back of a young boy who admired him.

Gon was raptured upward, naked and wet, slipping and clinging to the arms that plucked him from the water like a breathless fish. Kite stepped out of the tub, not bothering to pull the plug or towel either of them off. Water fell from them as if they were clouds, his long strides taking them directly to the bedroom. Leaving wet footprints in his wake like a god abandoning the mortal plane, not caring if the hardwood floors absorbed the water and swelled to ruin; he only needed one thing. The soft body squirming in his strong arms, the prey he needed to impale.

He was released from capture onto the foot of the bed, on his hands and knees like an animal that could break into a run at any moment. The nightstand drawer slammed shut, but there was no mystery as to who the roulette would land on this time. Thrusting his lower back higher, he rested his jagged hairline onto his forearms. The room was humid with damp hair and heavy breathing.

A new Kite pressed Gon’s bare ass to his pelvis briefly, miming the motion he’d use to pin him, like a specimen, to the foot of his bed. An uncomfortable sensation executed by a slick finger fanned the fire in Gon’s belly. He’d been afraid of pain or discomfort only a day before, but now something had flipped. Holding the thought of Kite’s pleasure in the curve of his spine and in the clench of his teeth, even pain would feel good. He needed it badly, worse than he had the first time.

“Are you—?” But the words were shot from the air as Kite realized he didn’t need them. He was a carnivore now, a man becoming a beast on a continent that was ruled by the laws of eat or die, strike first or die, lose yourself or die.

Gon moaned all of the pain and discomfort into his arm, drool streaming down his wrist and soaking into the sheets as Kite spread him open and pushed inside. This was nothing like before, it was impersonal, animalistic, and needful. The first time, Gon had needed to hold on to Kite. To affect him in some way that would force him to carry Gon with him. But now, there were no tears or hesitations, only sweat and flesh sparking to drive them both to some faraway desire.

When Kite started moving, he couldn’t tell which of them needed this more. It hurt, his bladder jostling with fear and excitement, but his mouth formed the word _harder_ and dropped it helplessly between them, Kite holding fast to his hips with slender, boney fingers and acquiescing.

Sometimes, Gon remembered things about Ging that he couldn’t tell anyone about. He remembered them in the same way he remembered things about him and Kite. Like sitting atop a tree that overlooked a world of ants. He’d been so young when the dreams began, he told Mito he knew where Ging was. _Gon, that isn’t funny._ He was waiting for him on top of that tree. _Which tree?_ The big one. The one that made the world look like it was inhabited by insects. _Gon_ , she said, _trees that big don’t exist. You have to stop telling people about that tree. It was a dream._

But he didn’t stop. And for a while, there was a popular joke at school that Gon’s dad was a tree. Sometimes he felt like it was true, and that Ging was a tree somewhere far away that he couldn’t find, but his leaves blew a thousand miles on a strong wind just to force Gon to think of him. At recess he would climb trees by himself, pretending Ging was waiting at the top of one of them. He stopped talking about his memory of Ging in the tree the day the three bullies pulled him to the ground and forcibly altered his young body for the first time in his life.

Having Kite inside him was being at the top of the great tree from his dream, looking down over the ledge on his hands and knees. The rush of wind and immense height against his bare abdomen, pushing and ramming through him at the top of the world. Flying and sinking simultaneously, Ging smiling while Kite coughed up blood. The smell of bright green leaves and sparrow eggs knocked loose by the rocking of the bed, falling the thousands of millions of miles to the ground. Infanticide by fucking. Imaginary-Ging’s muscled, sewn-together body lingering behind him, breathing hot down his neck. Silkworms vomiting around his fingers, leaving strands of Kite’s loose, long hairs on the bed.

Kite hit his prostate, forcing him back into the moment. Forcing him to cry out, not recognizing the desperate animal in his own voice. The two of them hungry—aching and hungry from lifetimes of only getting small tastes of each other. Never enough.

Never enough.

Never enough.

Fingers digging deeper, skin smacking harder, Kite came inside him with a strangled moan that reverberated off the curved small of Gon’s tanned back. He pulled out too quickly, Gon’s insides feeling scrambled and wet, and he could taste watermelon in the back of his throat. He thought for a moment he might vomit, nausea from looking down at such a great height, but Kite grabbed Gon’s erection, giving him a much-needed distraction. He’d never been tugged in that direction before, back between his legs, with the pit of his stomach becoming warm and uncomfortably hollow. It didn’t take him long to come, the residual feeling of being filled altering his orgasm into something that radiated in his pelvis and stretched down to his toes.

Cum dripped into small splatters on the bedsheets, his legs shook and dropped out from under him until he was laying on his stomach, face buried in his arms. The hollow feeling got worse as Kite crawled onto the bed, fully naked, prepared to sleep.

The tree was so high up. When he closed his eyes, he could see the entire world as it now existed. The people were ants, and he couldn’t tell which one was Kite or if he was still alive. Maybe Pitou didn’t even exist in that world. Just Gon, sitting at the crux of this strange universe, thinking about throwing himself off the ledge to find Kite.

These strange dreams— _memories_ —ran together like water colors, unable to be erased or pulled back apart once Gon had grasped them in his conscious mind. His nose was running, snot seeping into the sheets a few feet from where his cum had landed. He pawed at his nose with his palms, which had been indented bright red from something as soft as sheets. On shaking legs, he crawled up to Kite, feeling like a cracked sparrow egg. His heavy doll body flopped down on Kite’s outstretched arm.

“You’ll be gone before I wake up, won’t you?” His voice was lighter than it thought it would be. He sounded as though he accepted it, which came as a surprise to him.

Kite was silent.

“Was it good for you?”

“Yes.” A firm hand found its way to Gon’s slim hip, pulling him closer until there were no gaps between their skin.

Gon knew it was in response to both questions.

“I want to give you my unknown thing.”

“Unknown thing?”

“Yeah. The thing that makes me more than what I am. It will make you more than what you are, so you’ll really be amazing.”

“Don’t you need it?” Heartlessly, he humored Gon right up until the end.

“I can be just myself until you come back. There’s no point in having an extraordinary thing about me if I can’t use to bring you back to me.” Lifting himself up on shaky arms, still feeling the weak fullness in his guts, he placed his lips onto Kite’s. A transference. Whatever would want to kill Kite would have to get up pretty early in the morning to take him down. Maybe he would dream about the Kites that Gon had been seeing. Learn from all of the Kites that existed in other worlds and places in time. Maybe he would see other Gons too.

_May this help save him, even a little bit_ , Gon thought. Kite’s lips were chapped and pursed in a bundle of nerves. He could swear he felt it leave him—stripped him bare—it left him a fourteen-year-old boy. Simple. Powerless. Afraid of moving to a new city where he wouldn’t have any friends.

“Bring it back to me.”

“I’ll bring it back.”

“Come back to me.” Gon had said he was done crying and he meant it. It was purely the pull of gravity that carved a new river down the side of his face.

Kite stared straight ahead in the darkness, not pretending he would be sleeping. Even as Gon fought sleep, everything had been knocked out of him. His last thoughts were that Kite had done it on purpose—taken him to a lion’s den and entered his body roughly just to make him too tired to stay awake that night. The fight in him evaporated. He closed his eyes and held Kite with a grip he knew would slacken by morning, enough for Kite to slip from his arms.

“Goodnight, Gon.”

 

In the early morning light, the world exists. The world is cold and emptily big and it exists. Kite vanished like he never existed at all, along with the warmth that usually emanates from his side of the bed.

Tasting mercury in his throat, Gon wanders down the hallway, looking for a droplet of bathwater on the hardwood that hasn’t yet been evaporated or absorbed. There are none. His feet are bare and small, toes like ice as they were when he slept on the futon alone. He had no dreams last night. Without his unknown thing, he knows he won’t have anymore dreams or memories of other Kites in other worlds to hold on to. He only has this world now, which is Kiteless.

“Kite?” He throws his name into the empty living room, knowing no response will come. And then he regrets it, because soon his voice will be the only one this house remembers, and it’s too sad. This house will miss Kite too, he knows it will. It’s so dreadfully quiet without a documentary playing on the TV. He sees now why Kite used it to absorb the silence.

His empty bowl stained with watermelon juice is gone, replaced with a stack of items in the center of the coffee table. He sits down in front of the pile, eyes scanning over it hazily, not registering what’s in front of him. He can’t believe Kite is gone. Kite is gone.

He is gone.

The departure time of his flight was kept a secret, so there is no way for Gon to even know if he is still on the plane or if he has landed. Other than a general area on the continent that the commercial had highlighted in orange, Gon doesn’t even know where Kite is headed. He is just…gone. No other way to predict where he is, what he is doing, or how he is feeling right now.

The bookshelf is still tipped over, books scattered across the room like unnatural growths on a mutated organism. There are photos of Ging and Kite among them, waiting like mines in an unassuming field to send Gon to his knees at the wrong move. It will be a while before he can begin cleaning up the mess he made.

Turning his attention towards the coffee table, he sees an ivory envelope in heavy, crisp cardstock, almost certainly bought yesterday before the zoo. It has the name _Gon_ scrawled on it in messy, deep strokes that cut into the cardstock with how hard the pen was pressed. He sets it aside, unable to stomach the idea of opening it.

Beneath the envelope is green nylon fabric that he unfurls, revealing a small pair of running shorts. With an ugly pang in his chest, he tries to remember if he mentioned wanting these shorts to Kite or if his mind was read. He wants to think this is a promise: every Wednesday, right?

He’s naked still, and after running the fabric through his fingers and brushing it lightly with his cheek, he slides them up his legs and onto his waist. They’re so lightweight, his legs unrestricted to the point where he feels almost naked. It feels right for Kite to give him something that keeps him naked, because it matches the raw, bare feeling in the pit of his body. He closes his eyes, remembers Kite from the first day and the way his hip bones dipped beneath the tight fabric, and runs his hands along his own shorts. For a second, he thinks he might masturbate or start crying.

His eyes snap open when there’s a knock on the door.

_Kite_ , he thinks.

But of course, it isn’t Kite, and he feels like his guts have been pulled out and tossed across the floor. He’ll have to have to crush his hopes that Kite will be knocking on that door anytime soon, instead of letting his spiny little heart cling and fracture. It’s agony that his heart hasn’t fully broken yet.

God, he wishes his heart would just break and get it over with.

“Killua?” He pops open the door, only a sliver, as if Killua is a bloodthirsty beast who has shown up to hurt him.

“Let me in. I’m not leaving and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Kite’s car is gone. He can fully see its empty spot now as he lets the door swing all the way open. He stands there in his small green shorts with the tag still hanging off the waist, inhaling the sunlit morning and wringing his hands. Trying not to break down in front of his best friend. There are sorries in the back of his throat he’s forgotten how to say, even though he knows he needs to. There’s gratitude there too, for Killua. It’s too deep to reach, the only thing coming up to the surface is: “It wasn’t enough time. Again, it wasn’t enough time.”

No confusion comes, as if he knows Kite is gone. “Gon, I’m sorry.” Killua throws his arms around him and holds him tightly. They’ve hugged plenty, but never like this. Usually, Gon hugs Killua first. But some mercy tells Killua that Gon need this. Some grace told him to show up today, and now of all times. Even though Killua always sleeps in on weekends, he’s here at eight in the morning, holding him.

“How did you know?” Gon says into his neck, squeezing Killua’s narrow body—so much smaller than Kite’s that he hates him for it.

“I had the strangest dream about him.” He takes Gon’s hand, the one that still smells like cum and sweat, and leads him into a house he’s never been in before, looking around and settling back on Gon’s puffy eyes. “Kite, I mean. I’ve dreamt about him before too. He left in my dream, he—”

“Died?”

His eyes widen, blue crystals that splinter a bit every time Gon looks at him. He didn’t expect his sentence to get finished. “Yeah. I knew I had to come over and see you. It feels stupid, they’re just dreams. But they feel like memories.”

Gon breaks their hands apart, sits back at the futon in front of the items. Wordlessly, Killua sits next to him, knowing his presence is much more important than anything he could say or do right now. There’s something special between them; thinking back to when they first met, they’d become friends with such ease despite their wildly different backgrounds. As if their friendship was something they had done before, it had been effortless. And now, Killua’s unknown thing drew them back together at a time when any other friendship would have crumbled under the strain of what Gon had put him through—ignoring him, lying to him, causing him trouble, and taking advantage of his family’s position. Any other friendship between two fourteen-year-old boys would have dissolved.

There’s a new umbrella, a pattern of brown cartoon bears with pink tongues. For a moment, Gon considers opening it but doesn’t want to bring any unnecessary bad luck, just in case bad luck exists. There’s also a set of house keys, different from the ones he’s been borrowing. A keychain of a bear that matches the design on the umbrella dangles from the keyring, just to show that this set belongs to Gon. Kite’s cellphone, as promised, also sits next to the keys.

Beneath it all is the envelope that Mera gave him with Kite’s photo inside. The thought of the veterinary office taking his framed photo from the wall makes him queasy. If anyone starts forgetting about Kite, it will make him disappear faster. But Gon can’t look at the photo right now. He leaves it in the envelope.

He comes back to the letter, not sure if he can endure reading it right now either. It smells of sandalwood, and his hands tremble as he tears open the flap, as if it’s made of his flesh and tearing it open will only bring a further level of finality. If Gon doesn’t read the words Kite left him, Kite has no way of delivering anything that could even resemble last words.

Killua sits next to him firmly in silence, a single hand on Gon’s naked shoulder. If he can’t read it with Killua sitting beside him, he’ll never be able to.

When it’s open, Gon takes a deep, ragged breath.

Unfolded, it reads:

> Gon,
> 
> I lied when I said I don’t know what he does for a living. If I gave that information to you, who deserves to know more about him than I do, then I would lose one of the last unique connections I had with him. Even as I told you we were close, that you were my friend, that I was sorry for resenting you, I still held onto him selfishly.
> 
> I’m telling you now, even if I was too cowardly to tell you in person. I’m letting go of this last unique fact, which probably wasn’t all that unique from the start. I’ll give you all of the information I have about him. I ask you, selfishly, to take it from me, so that I don’t hang onto it. I won’t make it back over the oceans if I hang onto it.
> 
> Here is what I know about Ging Freecs: he’s a renowned archeologist, and I was in love with him.
> 
> When I met him, he smelled like dirt. The wet kind of dirt, like after a heavy rain. He had a tarnished, cheap ring on his thumb that he sometimes took off and spun on the table when he was deep in thought. His nails were short, also packed with dirt. He carried a lot of cash on his person at all times, because he knew no one would try to rob someone who looked like him.
> 
> I wanted him so badly.
> 
> This probably isn’t what someone wants to hear about their father, even if their father doesn’t function as a dad. Nor what someone wants to hear about their— _what we are_ —but you’re doubly unlucky. You were dealt a bad hand, the dice didn’t roll in your favor, Lady Luck snubbed you. You chose me, probably on a youthful whim. Latched onto something minor, something insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and you were punished for it. Fate turned on you.
> 
> I told myself I would stop talking like that, so I have to get it out of my system once in a while when it rattles too hard at its cage. My teenage years were desperately superstitious. That’s what happens when your childhood doesn’t make sense. You try to make sense of it, and when logic fails to tell you how something could be so unfair, you breathe the words _fate_ and _luck_ and then they never leave you. You’ve summoned a demon to ride your back. So I spent my teens blowing on dice and finding face-up pennies on the ground. You know you’re in deep when you’re poor but won’t pick up a penny unless it’s face-up. Ging was a hundred thousand face-up pennies all at once.
> 
> I didn’t know what to do with myself when he showed up. I trusted in him wholly, completely. Before he even won our bet, I felt he was the thing to dig me out of the pit. A filthy, cursing angel who sometimes touched my hand with no other reason than to touch it. At that age, I was much less mature than you are. I thought only angels touched your hands without pretense. That no one else would do it again.
> 
> But before you think it, let me say: Ging didn’t take advantage of me. In the same way that I’ve come to accept that I somehow didn’t take advantage of you. Or if I did, I didn’t intend to. Take that as you will, but don’t let yourself believe Ging was a slimeball who saw me coming from a mile away and rolled me into bed. There’s a road in the middle, I think. And that seems to be the road I’m always on. It’s everyone else who meets me on that road and ends up walking alongside.
> 
> After he paid my tuition and told me to become a doctor, he told me I needed to stop using words like luck and fate. Doctors don’t talk like that. Doctors find solutions. They look at the ugly world for all its ugliness, and they still wake up the next morning and find solutions. They don’t blow on dice or bless lucky socks. And then, as if to prove his own point about the world being ugly, he left.
> 
> That’s probably not fair. I don’t think he left to teach me pain, because he knew I’ve had enough of that in my life. I don’t think he left to communicate or do anything to me, I think he just left. It’s funny, he told me to think and find solutions and reasons, and then does something I can’t comprehend or think my way through. There are no whys to find, only reality to accept.
> 
> I’m only telling you this because I love you and I think you would want to know. You wanted to know about Ging and then you wanted to know about me. You’re the little boy I resented for existing, because that meant Ging had been with someone else. He’d been with a woman and their relationship had left tangible proof that they were together. He vanished without a trace from my life, leaving nothing behind but the degree I earned—which he didn’t even choose.
> 
> Even though I said I don’t talk about fate and luck anymore, it was both of those that brought you to me. Both back when I first saw you and a week ago when you hunted me down. Maybe calling it ‘fate’ reduces your achievements, your determination to seek me out. Or maybe it can still be fate on my end while being self-made success on yours.
> 
> This letter is mostly about Ging because my face burns when I start writing about you. I’ve tried to write about your fingers, about your little intricacies and your hairline, but my fingers fail. The way you look at me, the way you’ve looked at me from day one. A look that has only slightly changed, despite everything; which I find amazing. In a way, it should be a comfort to you (it certainly is to me) that I can talk about Ging, but I can’t talk about you. When someone means that much, they’re hard to talk about in a lot of ways. A mix of selfishness, cowardice, and fragility. Like I was with Ging for a long time. I don’t know when Ging stopped being that and you started. That’s probably not a comfort, because if my feelings changed in a week, that would feel cheap, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry I don’t have the answer for when it became hard for my lips to form sentences about you. It was gradual and fast at the same time.
> 
> That’s why I disappeared before you woke up. You would have never gotten this from my lips. There wasn’t enough time for us to tangle limbs and become vulnerable a hundred times; for me to gain enough bravery to leak a bit out every time until it all came to light. You probably didn’t want this story all at once on paper. That’s not how I wanted it either. But there comes a time in every young boy’s life when he realizes the world exists. And adjusting to that knowledge sometimes means things happen unnaturally. Not how we wanted it. But the world exists and it’s not going to bend for anyone’s wants. So we have to be the ones to bend.
> 
> But I can say this about you: you’re a bad liar. Lying doesn’t suit you at all. But I’m worse for giving in to your whims, even knowing that they’re lies. I’m weak to you, but I’m on a plane now, so I’m going to order you around, and you can’t hit me with a look that will buckle my knees and my resolve.
> 
> Take care of yourself. Ask Mera and Killua for help if you need it. You can be honest with Mito. And you can’t run away from this move forever. You can’t stay in my empty house forever. I said you could stay as long as you want, but I lied. Go home before you want to. The world exists, face it. Waiting for me to pull up and save you is like blowing on dice and leaving face-down pennies on the ground. Your stubbornness is going to hurt you, hurt others, make you miss out on life. Apologize to the person(s) you hurt. Moving doesn’t absolve you of that. Let your knuckles heal and then never let them get like that again.
> 
> I’m running out of advice because my chest is twisting up as dawn is breaking. Keep Killua close. He loves you. Don’t disappear on him. Disappearing on someone is the worst thing you can do to them. That’s why I told you I was leaving, instead of letting you go home without knowing. And if someone leaves you, don’t wait for them.
> 
> Don’t wait, okay? Go home. Move into a nice house and invite Killua over. Make friends. I was going to let you make your own decisions about Ging, but I’ve changed my mind. Don’t wait for him either. Don’t go after him. Or me. You’re too young to wait and wait.
> 
> That being said, I’ll come back. I have no plans to die here. I put my last bit of belief in luck into our plastic bear friend, and I’ve got him strapped to my belt. I’ll bet on him, but I’ll also be careful. Find solutions. I’m a doctor, after all.
> 
> Here’s one more thing I wasn’t going to tell you: this wasn’t a noble pursuit. I got wind that a major archeological dig is happening in the area I’m headed. I was going to find him. That’s what made me volunteer. One last-ditch effort, putting my own life on the line. But I don’t care about that anymore. I’m going to help animals and to prove to myself that I’m capable. I don’t care if he’s there or not.
> 
> I left for him, but I’m coming back for you, okay?
> 
> I won’t say goodbye.
> 
> -Kite

He presses it to his nose again—the porous, stiff paper smells like sandalwood too. It will fade after a few openings; the paper will wear and soften from being refolded a hundred times. Parted lips will eclipse Kite’s promises, oily fingerprints will ghost over ink, paper will absorb miserable tears and listen to him read it aloud in a voice that breaks. Long after the smell has faded and the edges have dogeared, Gon will still cling miserably to hope. His heart will refuse to fully break, aching more than if he could just euthanize it.

“It’s okay,” he tells Killua. “Dream Kite didn’t have our bear. All of our luck is in that bear.” But even so, he holds his stomach. It hasn’t felt right since Kite fucked him. He wraps his arms around his stomach, perches his feet up on the futon, puts his forehead on his knees. Once he feels better, he’ll want it again, and that’s what’s making him sick.

Killua doesn’t ask what the bear is, perhaps he doesn’t remember the toy, but he responds: “Bear beats cat.” And that feels right, like Kite has become the bear. He conquered his fear of cats and became something more. And he has Gon’s unknown thing.

In another world, Kite doesn’t come home. He and Killua both know that. But this Kite, _his Kite_ , won’t end up like that. He can’t end up like that. One of the Kites has to come back, one of them has to survive. His Kite deserves it more than any of them. He’ll come home, and they’ll go jogging every Wednesday. Maybe they’ll even get a big dog that will pin Kite to the driveway after he gets home from work every day.

In the meantime, Gon will water the plant above the sink until it comes back to life, change the bulbs that have burnt out on the porch lights, finally sort the recycling and clean out the cigarette butts, dust the old shoes in the foyer, pick up the toppled stack of books. He’ll live alone in this quiet house, just like Kite had done for so long. When he runs out of things to clean, fix, and love, he will remember their week together. Closing his eyes, step by step, he’ll relive it. Every touch, every word, everything they ate together—as many times as he can before the world comes knocking at the front door. It will have to rip him away by force.

Kite told him not to become the man who spends his life consumed with someone else’s absence. But he’s young. He can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for coming with me on this long journey and seeing it through to completion. I understand that many may have wanted a happier ending, but that's the nature of art and writing. It will never please everyone. I appreciate you respecting the artistic vision I had for this fic.
> 
> Someday, there may be a single epilogue chapter. But for now, please consider this work completed.
> 
> That being said, you can talk to me and ask me questions on my tumblr: https://illukillua.tumblr.com/ or my curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/shiroppan 
> 
> I would love to know what you think about this fic. What chapter was your favorite? How did you think it would end? No comment is too long or too short. I would love to hear from you, so please comment ❤  
> And if you liked this fic, please recommend it to someone!
> 
> Love, Brocon


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